,     : 


YESTERDAYS    WITH    ACTORS. 


YESTERDAYS    WITH   ACTORS 


BY 


CATHERINE  MART  REIGNOLDS-WINSLOW 


BOSTON 

CUPPLES    AND    HURD 

94  Boylston  Street 
1885 


■ 


I 


Second  Edition. 


Copyright,  1886,  by 

Catherine  Mart  Reignolds-Winslow. 

Copyright,  1887, 

By  Cupplks  and  Hitrd. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


Che  f?ijt>e  IPark  33rtB8. 


To  Helen  Morton,  AID., 

Good  Physician,  Faithful  Friend,  True  Woman  ; 

to  whose 

Skill,  Constancy,  and  Courage, 

I  owe 

Health,  Hope,  and  Inspiration  ; 

these  Memories  are  affectionately  inscribed. 


CONTEXTS. 


PAGE 

Introduction vii 

i.   Charlotte  Cushman 17 

2.  Edwin  Forrest 29 

3.  John  Brougham 45 

4.  Laura  Keene — Agnes  Robertson  ...  62 

5.  -£.  ^/.  Sothern 79 

6.  ifew.  Be  Ear  —  Matilda  Heron  — J.  H. 

Hackett  —  Mrs.  John    Wood  — James 

E.Murdoch  —  Mrs.  Lander       .     .     .  100 

7.  Boston  Museum 122 

8.  Boston  Museum,  continued 143 

9.  Travel  in  America       162 

10.   Canada  and  England 184 


PHOTO-GRA  VURES. 

PAGE 

William  Warren frontispiece 

Mrs.   Win  slow title-page 

Charlotte  Cushman 17 

Edtvin  Forrest 29 

John  Brougham 45 

Laura  Keene 62 

E.  A.  Sothcm 79 

Matilda  Heron no 


VIGNETTES. 

William  E.  Burton 62 

.  Ignes  Robert  sou 64 

J.  A.  Smith 84 

Mr.  Buck  stone 90 

J.  H.  Hackctt 114 

Mis. John  Wood 115 

James  E.  Murdoch 116 

E.  F.  Reach 123 

R.  M.  Field 133 

Mr.  Barrow 135 

Airs.  Barrow - 135 

Kate  Bate  man 136 

John   Wilkes  Booth 140 

Mrs.    Vincent 143 

Oriana  Marshall 155 

Josephine  Or  ton 155 

.iuiiie  Clarke 156 

Mine.  Anna  Bishop 1S7 


GRATEFUL    ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
IS   MADE 

**„.  To  Mr.  Frank  Hill  Smith  for  his  tasteful  design 
for  the  cover  of  ''  Yesterdays  with  Actors," 

*%  To  Mr.  F.  P.  Vinton,  for  the  kind  permission  to 
copy  his  portrait  of  Mr.  Warren. 


T'N  the  memories  of  theatre-goers,  a  gen- 
ii eration  is  said  to  count  no  more  than  ten 
^r  years,  and  we  are  reckoned  old  folks 
by  the  public  after  a  comparatively  short  ser- 
vice. But  I  was  startled  to  find  in  a  recent 
book  of  dramatic  biography  a  statement  that 
my  father  was  killed  at  Waterloo  ;  whereas  it 
was  my  grandfather  who  died  there,  when  my 
father  was  eight  weeks  old. 

This  seemed  to  crowd  me  rather  cruelly  into 
an  historic  period,  and  the  incident  has  been 
the  spur  to  jot  down  a  few  trifling  recollec- 
tions that  may  be  of  some  slight  interest  to 
those  who  share  them  ;  before  their  subjects 
are  forgotten,  and  the  writer  has  become  "the 
idle  singer  of  an  empty  day." 

My  earliest  remembrance  was  keeping  the 
anniversary  of  this  same  grandfather's  death  ; 
certainly  a  meaningless  attempt  at  sentiment 
on  my  part,  but  a  mournful  observance  on  my 
father's,  with  which  my  mother  early  taught 
me  to  sympathize. 

Major  Reignolds  came  from  Germany  to 
England  in  the  suite  of  the  Duke  of  York, 

and, 


VI 11 

and,  acting  as  aide-de-camp  to  Sir  William 
Ponsonby,  fell  in  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  The 
portrait  of  my  grandfather,  standing  by  the 
horse  that  was  killed  under  him  on  the  field, 
was  a  discipline  in  my  early  days  —  partly,  no 
doubt,  on  account  of  the  reverential  manner 
with  which  I  was  used  to  see  it  treated.  But 
the  slightly  knitted  brow,  large,  deep-set  gray 
eyes,  and  sensitive  truthful  mouth,  were  in 
themselves  a  reproach  to  me  more  than  once, 
and  well  do  I  remember  hesitating  to  make  a 
selfish  complaint  of  my  sister  in  the  room 
where  that  stern  pleader  silently  looked  down 
upon  me. 

I  never  knew  a  military  man  who  was  not 
more  or  less  of  a  fatalist,  and  I  have  often 
thought  of  the  morning  when  the  note  of  war 
sounded,  and  the  young  husband  and  father 
answered  the  roll  call  for  what  he  might  have 
felt  to  be  his  last  battle.  It  must  have  been, 
indeed,  "  an  unaccustomed  spirit  "  that  could 
lift  him  "  above  the  ground  with  cheerful 
thoughts  "  at  such  a  moment. 

My  grandmother,  too,  had  a  premonition  of 
woe,  and,  while  looking  upon  the  faces  of  her 
four  little  children,  she  remembered  the  hap- 
piness of  the  last  few  years,  only  to  tremble 
for  the  future.  Her  grief  at  the  prospect  of 
parting  from  her  husband  was  so  uncontrolla- 
ble, 


ble,  it  was  at  last  decided  that  she,  with  her 
infant  and  nurse,  and  some  dear  friends, 
should  travel  to  Brussels,  and  there  await  the 
news  from  Waterloo. 

Suspense  is  torture  to  us  all,  and  what  the 
hours  were  to  that  poor  wife  in  the  little  inn 
at  Brussels,  who  can  say  ? 

The  tender  hearts  about  her  made  the 
most  elaborate  plans  for  getting  news  after 
the  fight  began,  and,  early  in  the  day,  almost 
before  they  had  dared  to  hope  —  it  came.  The 
first  messenger  was  the  last;  he  brought  all 
the  news  they  waited  for.  There  was  no  more 
to  tell  —  her  hero  was  dead.  Bearing  orders 
across  the  field,  he  had  been  one  of  the  first  to 
fall  ! 

Who,  among  the  kind  friends  telling  the 
sad  tidings,  offering  tears  and  love  and  sym- 
pathy, could  have  been  prepared  for  the  dry- 
eyed  sorrow  they  encountered,  silent  and  rigid, 
a  long  and  piteous  sigh  the  only  sign  of  life 
from  the  bereaved  one  ? 

Long  before  Lord  Tennyson  wrote  the 
words  of  "  Home  they  brought  her  warrior 
dead  "  was  the  poem  lived  over,  for,  when  the 
days  went  by,  still  "she  neither  wept  nor 
moved."  The  old  nurse  put  the  fatherless 
baby  into  her  arms,  but  with  no  such  happy 
result  as  the  poet  describes.     There  came  no 

tears 


tears  "like  summer  tempests,"  no  struggle 
for  her  helpless  little  children.  She  moved 
mechanically,  never  spoke  unless  questioned, 
and  silently  drooped  and  faded.  The  pulse 
grew  more  feeble,  the  breath  less  and  less, 
until  they  whispered  she  was  dead,  dead  of  a 
broken  heart !  Six  weeks  after  the  battle  of 
Waterloo  she  was  lying  in  the  same  grave 
with  her  lover-husband  at  East  Cowes,  in  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  and  my  father,  with  his  sisters 
and  brother,  were  orphans. 

Under  able  guardianship  these  children 
were  reared.  My  aunts  had  a  certain  native 
dignity,  and,  leading  the  ordinary  lives  of 
English  gentlewomen,  they  were  preserved 
from  rough  contact  with  the  world. 

My  uncle,  Colonel  Rcignolds,  must  have 
known  his  share.  But  he  was  so  entirely 
the  soldier  that,  in  despite  of  sorrows  and  af- 
flictions that  well-nigh  crushed  the  man,  he 
rose  up  at  the  call  of  duty,  and  won  honor 
and  forgetfulness  in  the  East. 

My  father  had  not  his  brother's  strength, 
and  passed  from  the  timid  studious  lad  to 
the  reserved  and  sensitive  man,  who,  while 
he  read  and  wrote  several  languages,  spoke 
only  what  he  must.  Although  receiving 
his  education  at  Woolwich,  his  commission 
offered     no    all-absorbing    interest    for    the 

younger 


XI 

younger  son,  and,  at  the  same  time  that  he 
did  not  want  courage  to  face  the  fire  of  the 
enemy,  he  grew  coward  at  the  cold  greeting 
of  a  friend,  so  that,  when  worldly  misfortunes 
fell  upon  him,  he  could  make  no  more  headway 
under  the  cruel  load  of  life  than  the  mother 
before  him. 

As  it  became  necessary  for  my  mother  to 
take  up  the  task  of  maintaining  her  children, 
she  very  naturally  profited  by  the  only  means 
in  her  power,  an  unusually  lovely  voice ;  and 
the  pursuit  which  she  then  adopted,  may,  in- 
deed, have  been  shaped  by  hereditary  in- 
fluence. Her  family  were  not  only  possessed 
of  rare  musical  and  artistic  gifts,  but  traits  of 
character  less  conventional  than  those  of  my 
German  ancestry. 

When  I  was  in  England,  my  uncle,  John 
Absolon,  the  artist,  pointed  out  in  the  record 
of  the  "Issue  Roll"  of  Edward  III.,  the 
name  of  the  first  John  Absolon,  who  figures 
there  as  "  King's  Minstrel "  with  a  pension 
of  "twopence  a  day,"  along  with  Geoffrey 
Chancer,  "  King's  valet,  pension  two-pence- 
half-penny." 

My  own  debut  was  at  the  age  of  four,  and 
brought  about  in  the  following  accidental 
way.  On  the  occasion  of  a  drawing-room 
concert,  a  carriage  was  sent  for  my  mother, 

also 


Xll 


also  conveying  the  tenor  singer  of  the  night. 
Not  liking  a  long  drive  with  a  stranger,  she 
hastily  concluded  to  take  her  little  daughter 
as  chaperone.  During  the  evening  I  was 
handed  from  lap  to  lap,  and  petted  by  all,  as 
a  child  is  in  a  circle  of  grown  people,  when  at 
last  some  one  asked  if  I  would  sing.  I 
promptly  responded,  "Yes,  I  know  one  song." 
Upon  the  ladies  submitting  the  request  to 
my  mother,  it  was  at  first  denied  —  neverthe- 
less she  was  at  last  urged  to  help  me  with  a 
leading  chord,  and  standing  on  the  top  of  the 
piano,  I  twittered  out,  in  pretty  fair  time  and 
tune,  "  My  mother  clear." 
"There  was  a  place  in  childhood  that  I  remember 

well, 
And  there  a  voice  of  sweetest  tone,  bright  fairy 

tales  did  tell, 
And  kindest  words  and  fond  embrace  were  given 

with  joy  to  me, 
When  I  was  in  that  happy  place  upon  my  mother's 

knee." 

This   I    addressed,   very    properly,    to    the 

audience  gathered  about  me,  but  in  the  refrain 

of 

"  My  mother  dear,  my  mother  dear, 

My  gentle  mother  dear," 

I  turned  from  the  little  group,  and,  looking 
at  my  idol,  sang  to  her  alone,  and,  stretching 

across 


Xlll 

across  the  key-board,  ended  with  my  arms 
around  her  neck. 

By  great  exertion  I  was  kept  for  some  few 
years  at  an  excellent  school  near  London,  until 
my  mother  was  led  to  come  to  America.  In- 
stead of  finding  her  way  easier,  no  opportu- 
nity presented  itself  in  the  career  she  had 
chosen,  and  the  influence  of  friends,  and  pro- 
tection of  family  at  home,  were  painfully 
missed.  There  seemed  no  opening  but  the 
stage,  toward  which  she  had  already  made  a 
half  step,  to  support  her  children,  my  sisters 
being  seven  and  nine  years  of  age. 

It  was  now,  in  all  the  sanguine  confidence 
of  fourteen,  possessed  by  the  common  youth- 
ful passion  for  the  stage,  I  demanded  my 
right  to  share  the  burden. 

So  while  my  mother  was  playing  Cinderella 
in  an  engagement  at  Mr.  JoJin  Rices  Thea- 
tre, Chicago,  I  persuaded  her  to  let  me  try  a 
small  part. 

We  all  recognize  the  especial  importance 
of  a  high  standard  and  pure  example  to  those 
just  starting  in  the  world,  for  it  is  then  we 
are  most  impressionable  and  likely  to  take 
color  from  those  set  above  us.  And  let  me 
here  offer  a  handshake  over  time  and  space 
to  Mrs.  John  Rice,  and  express  my  very 
grateful  remembrance  of   my  first   manager, 

his 


XIV 

his  wife  and  all  of  his  family.  I  had  a  watch- 
ful, loving  mother  by  my  side,  but  if  ever 
there  was  an  atmosphere  where  guardianship 
could  be  dispensed  with,  it  was  where  Mrs. 
Rice  lived  her  simple,  lovely,  womanly  life, 
true  help-meet,  true  mother,  a  blessing  in  her 
own  home  and  an  honor  to  her  profession. 
As  a  man,  an  actor,  a  manager,  mayor  of 
Chicago,  and  in  every  other  office  he  ever 
filled,  John  Rice  also  proved  himself  sterling 
metal,  and  the  respect  and  confidence  of  his 
fellow-men  in  every  walk  of  life  bore  witness 
to  it. 

For  the  sake  of  encouragement  to  others, 
let  me  say  that  my  novitiate  was  an  utter 
failure,  most  awkward,  unpromising,  and  un- 
inspired. Any  success  I  afterwards  met, 
followed  as  hopeless  a  year  or  two  of  uninter- 
mitting  effort  and  struggles  as  ever  human  be- 
ing spent.  Only  duty,  affection  and  necessity 
held  me  up,  my  one  comfort  the  being  speed- 
ily enabled,  with  my  most  generous  and  devo- 
ted sisters'  help,  to  release  our  mother  from 
a  thoroughly  uncongenial  occupation. 

In  what  follows,  I  have  purposely  refrained 
from  touching  upon  that  which  belongs  to 
the  inner  life  either  of  myself  or  my  subjects. 

While  constrained  to  say  a  few  words  of 
family    circumstances  which  led  me    to    the 

theatre, 


XV 

theatre :  to  violate  the  domestic  privacy  of 
other  actors  would  be  impertinent  and  out 
of  taste.  The  veil  that  shelters  home  should 
be  sacred.  Indeed  it  has  always  seemed  to 
me  the  very  gift  of  so  much  of  ourselves  be- 
hind the  footlights  ought  to  make  them  a 
more  absolute  barrier  between  the  world  and 
the  rest  of  our  lives. 

Of  course  charlatans  seek  every  form  of 
notoriety,  but  the  great  actors  I  have  known 
"dwelt  apart  "  far  more  than  other  people. 

These  then  are  only  a  few  wayside  notes 
culled  from  a  public  career,  which,  by  reason 
of  its  hard  work,  knew  but  little  pleasure 
save  the  blessed  one  which  bread-winners, 
toiling  for  those  they  love,  alone  can  under- 
stand. As  they  are  written,  so  must  they 
be  read,  as  one  would  listen  to  a  voice  in  the 
gloaming — not  in  the  spirit  of  criticism — for 
that  they  are  beneath  it  no  one  knows  better 
than  the  story-teller.  Lacking  even  a  spice 
of  gossip,  these  trifles  may  be  without  flavor, 
but,  such  as  they  are,  Nil  nisi  bonum.  In- 
nocent and  wholesome,  it  is  hoped  they  can 
be  read  by  young  eyes,  and  upon  young  ears 
fall  harmless. 

C.  M.  R.  W. 

Boston,  April,  1887. 

CHAPTER 


YESTERDAYS    WITH    ACTORS. 


CHAPTER   I. 


Charlotte  CusJiman. 

I  was  once  asked  by  some  philanthropic  The  theatre  as 
people  what  I  thought  of  a  young  lad  going  aschooL 
into  a  theatre  as  assistant  carpenter.  I  said 
I  should  consider  him  in  the  best  of  schools, 
and  that  an  apprenticeship  so  spent  could  not 
but  serve  him  well  in  any  condition  of  life. 
Many  hundred  children  may  be  educated  in 
the  same  building  and  by  the  same  teachers, 
and  yet  few  of  them  may  truly  profit  by  their 
opportunities.  I  do  not  say,  therefore,  that  all 
who  spend  a  few  brief  years  in  the  theatre 
come  forth  reflecting  credit  and  honor  on  their 
chosen  profession,  but  I  do  say  they  cannot 
but  be  the  better,  if  they  choose  to  benefit 
by  the  education  of  a  theatre ;  and  here  are 
some  of  the  lessons  taught :  Punctuality,  in- 
dustry, self-control,  endurance,  concentration, 

self- 


iS  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

self-reliance,  silence,  patience,  obedience  and 
charity. 

Balzac  tells  us  that  man  is  neither  good  nor 
bad,  but  born  with  instincts  and  capacities 
that  self-interest  develops.  The  theatre  is  a 
little  world  within  itself,  with  all  the  varying 
phases  of  good,  bad  and  indifferent,  like  any 
other  and  every  other  condition  of  life,  and 
the  stage,  like  society  and  empires,  has  its  days 
of  rise  and  decline.  It  has  been  said  of  painters 
and  authors  that  they  live  in  their  labors. 
The  standard    Why  not    actors  ?     Would  it   be   strange  if, 

of  actors'  lives.  , .     .  ,  ,  -,  i  r    i   •     i 

living  as  they  do  in  an  atmosphere  ot  higher 
and  better  thoughts,  their  lives  were  "tuned 
to  a  higher  key  ?  "  Certain  it  is  that  you  find 
many  such.  Some,  not  in  the  front  rank, 
are  never  recognized  beyond  the  footlights, 
scarcely  even  by  those  about  them.  They 
pass  through  the  various  scenes  of  duty  with 
such  delicacy  as  to  leave  no  trace,  until  they 
themselves  are  no  more  and  the  place  they 
filled  is  empty.  It  is  only  the  spot  of  muddy 
water  that  leaves  the  stain.  The  snowflake 
vanishes. 
Pre-eminence  Foremost  among  actresses  and  women  was 
of  charlotte  Miss  Charlotte  Cushman.  Clever  people  have 
already  told  of  her  life — its  trials  and  its 
triumphs  —  and  all  that  may  be  added  are 
but  a  few  old  memories. 

The 


Cushman. 


Charlotte  Cuskman.  ig 

The  first  time    I    ever  looked  upon  Miss  My  first  meet- 
Cushman  was  in  Washington,  where  she  was lnR  Wlth  her" 
to    appear    in    Guy    Mannering,  in  which    I 
was  intrusted  with  the  small  part  of  the  Gipsy 
Girl  —  a  very  insignificant  line  or  two  —  but  at 
rehearsal  I  had  been  expressly  told  to  carry 
a  table  off  the  stage  at  a  certain  "cue"  to- 
gether with  some  other  little  details  of  "busi- 
ness," rather  important  to  the  action  of  the 
scene,  as  every  minute  particular  is  indeed, 
however   trifling    it     may  appear.      All  was 
clearly  impressed  upon  my  anxious  mind  until 
the  time  of  its  fulfilment,  when,  at  the  entrance  Entrance  of 
of  Meg  Merrilies,  I  could  not  say  "four  of  mv  Me£  Merrilies- 
five  wits  went  walking  off,"  for  that  would 
have  left  me  "  one  to  be  known  a  reasonable 
creature,"  whereas  mine  went,  all,  every  one, 
scattered  like   leaves  before  the  gale.     And 
looking  back  from  this  standpoint,  I  under- 
take my  own  defence,  for  to  a  person  totally 
unprepared    I    can    imagine    nothing    more 
frightfully    startling    than    Miss    Cushmati s Mis 
"  make-up  "  in  that  character.     I  only  know  I  man's  wonder- 
have  never  witnessed  anything  approaching  u  ma  e*up' 
it.     The  work  of  the  artist  was  so  perfect, 
close  study  only  made  it  the  more  wonderful. 
It  could  not  be  surpassed.     Not   only  from 
head  to   heel  was  the  observance  complete, 
but  in  action,  speech,  carriage,  voice,  even  in 

the 


20  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

the  old  nurse's  lullaby,  there  was  an  unbroken 
realization  of  a  truly  masterful  creation.  And 
the  entrance  of  the  witch,  as  Miss  Cushman 
made  it,  added  to  the  horror  a  thousand  fold, 
with  her  hurricane-swooping  rush  to  the  mid- 
dle of  the  stage,  where,  as  her  glance  fell 
upon  her  foster-child,  she  reminded  you  of  a 
wave  arrested  at  its  very  crest.  She  stood  at 
her  topmost  height,  as  it  seemed,  without 
drawing  her  breath,  partially  holding  her  posi- 
tion by  aid  of  the  forked  bough  she  carried  for 
a  staff.  Though  the  attitude  strained  every 
muscle,  she  was  absolutely  motionless. 
An  imitation        I  once  saw  a  very  clever  girl  give  an  imita- 

ofMissCush-      .  •  r    ,1   .  T  i  •  i 

tion  of  this  scene.  In  endeavoring  to  make 
her  entrance  with  the  speed  and  force  of  the 
original,  she  forgot  her  slippery  footgear  and 
the  slope  of  the  stage,  and  never  stopped  at 
the  point  of  making  her  halt  until  she  hur- 
riedly sat  down  just,  and  only  just,  short  of  the 
footlights.  Ah !  that's  twenty  years  ago,  but  I 
can  seem  to  see  the  big,  beautiful  black  eyes 
turning  mournfully  back  from  the  past  upon 
me,  bidding  me  go  on  with  my  own  shortcom- 
ing. So  here  they  are.  All  went  well  upon 
the  night  in  question,  up  to  the  point 
where  my  "business"  should  have  been  re- 
membered, when  after  "a  wait"  there  re- 
mained the  table  I  should  have  taken  off,  and 

there 


man. 


CJmrlottc  Cushman.  21 

there  the  gipsy  girl,  blind  to  all  but  the  one 
hideous  figure,  and  deaf  to  everything  ;  for 
muttered  "go's  "  and  "comes,"  I  was  told  of 
afterwards,  were  all  unheard  at  the  moment  ; 
my  only  remembrance  is  that  the  face  glared 
down  upon  me,  the  brown  turbaned  head  tow- 
ered above  me,  the  bat-like  wings  of  drapery 
enveloped  me,  the  bony  hand  clutched  me. 
Yes  ;  hand  !  — for  in  the  other,  they  said,  re- 
mained the  staff,  but  that  one  hand  lifted  me 
like  a  rag  doll  from  one  place  and  set  me 
gently  down  upon  my  feet  in  another  !  Miss  Miss  Cushman 
Cushman  had  "cleared  the  stage  "  for  herself  ;clearsthestase- 
the  volley  of  angry  words  fired  at  me  in  the 
entrance,  from  stage  manager,  prompter  and 
everybody  else,  made  my  remissness  and  dis- 
grace stand  in  their  true  enormity  before  me 
and  broke  the  witch's  spell. 

On  the  same  evening  poor  Miss  Cushman  Another  disas- 
suffered  from  another  mistake  far  more  dis-'e/"lGuy 

Mannenng. 

astrous  than  my  own.  In  the  last  scene  the 
characters  are  all  in  the  front  of  the  stage, 
and  a  crowd  of  supernumeraries  at  the  back. 
At  a  grand  crisis  Meg  Merrilies  points  to 
Henry  Bertram,  and  bids  them  "  shout  for 
the  Laird  of  Ellangowan,"  and  the  crowd 
shout. 

Now,  like  most  other  stage  directions,  this 
looks    simple  enough,  but   its    fulfilment  re- 
quired 


22  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

quired  intelligence  and  watchfulness.  Ac- 
cording to  Miss  Citshmaris  rendering,  strug- 
gling in  her  death  agony,  she  said,  "shout" 
three  times  before  the  cheer  was  really  given, 
and  then  it  was  given  in  earnest. 

In  all  the  rehearsals  preceding  the  star's 
arrival,  the  prompter  had  hastily  murmured 
the  lines,  as  is  the  custom  —  indeed,  in  origi- 
nal manuscripts  it  is  only  the  last  words  of 
the  principal  part  that  are  even  written, 
which  gives  to  such  copies  in  theatrical  no- 
menclature the  name  "skeleton."  So  the 
"shout"  had  only  been  said  once,  to  which 
the  crowd  had  been  in  the  habit  of  respond- 
ing. 
a  tedious  re-  Though  Miss  CusJiniau  gave  the  proper 
directions  at  the  last  rehearsal  which  she  per- 
sonally conducted,  it  had  been  very  long  ;  it 
was  late  in  the  play  when  the  scene  occurred  ; 
everybody  was  tired  and  hungry  —  the  crowd 
of  unimportant  people  was  as  usual  inatten- 
tive and  indifferent.  At  night  a  general  con- 
viction was  felt  that  something  had  to  be 
done  and  something  left  undone.  But  as  out 
of  a  group  of  supernumeraries  there  will 
always  be  found  some  interested  leaders,  each 
one  made  up  his  mind  to  do  what  the  next 
man  did.  So  when  Meg  Merrilies  gave  her 
first  feeble  cry  of  "  shout,"  a  lusty  voice  roared 

"  Hur— " 


hearsal. 


Charlotte  Cushman.  23 

"  Hur — ,"  and  the  groaning  "not  yet,"  The  triple 
from  Miss  Cushman  just  held  back  thesl 
"  rah,"  only,  however,  to  remind  all  of  their 
duty;  so  that  with  the  next  "shout"  the 
whole  crowd  burst  forth  with  a  loud 
"  Hur —  ."  With  a  stride  and  a  menace  she 
once  more  froze  the  "rah"  upon  their  lips, 
and  when  the  "  shout "  for  the  third  time 
came,  only  one  wee  body  in  all  the  band  was 
found  to  say  "  Hurrah,"  in  a  falsetto  voice  so 
shrill  and  with  an  advancing  gesture  so  ex- 
aggerated that  poor  Meg  Merrilies  died  to  the 
sounds  of  smothered  laughter. 

Dear  lion-hearted,  loyal-hearted  Charlotte 
Cushman  !  I  may  not  esteem  myself  among 
her  friends,  for  with  such  a  woman  friend 
meant  something  more  than  a  mere  acquaint- 
ance, but  later  I  was  brought  near  enough  to 
love  and  honor  her. 

Five  years  after  my  Washington  experi- MissCushman 
ence,  she  came  to  the  St.  Charles  Theatre,  Orleans 
New  Orleans,  and,  finding  me  biddable,  obe- 
dient, and  unfeignedly  glad  to  adopt  her  cor- 
rections, she  graciously  taught  me  not  only 
what  concerned  her  own  scenes,  but 
the  whole  part  of  Juliet,  and  everything 
else  I  played  with  her.  When  the  engage- 
ment was  drawing  near  its  close,  she  desired 
most  earnestly   that    I  might  be  allowed  to 

travel 


24  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

travel  with  her,  and,  unknown  to  me,  tried  to 
induce  the  manager,  Mr.  Dc  Bar,  to  find  a 
substitute  and  give  me  up  to  her  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  season.  Home  ties  prevented 
the  fulfilment  of  any  such  plan,  although  I 
felt  very  proud  of  her  election,  and  very  grate- 
ful for  her  most  generous  appreciation  and 
invaluable  help. 
Miss  Cush-  I  wish  people  who  think  acting  so  easy  had 

man's  patience  r,,,      -i  T         ■,-,    ,  ■%  •       .v  • 

in  rehearsal,  seen  one  little  lesson  1  call  to  mind  in  this  en- 
gagement. With  my  faulty  memory  I  can 
think  of  neither  plot  nor  names  of  charac- 
ters. I  only  know  the  play  was  The  Actress 
of  Padua,  and.that  Miss  Cttskman  told  me  to 
stay,  that  after  the  regular  rehearsal  she 
might  drill  me  in  some  particular  business 
she  required.  As  far  as  I  remember,  it 
was  one  woman  forcing  another  to  kneel 
at  a  shrine  which  was  placed  on  an 
elevation  of  three  or  four  steps.  But  the 
tremendous  crescendo  with  which  it  must  be 
reached,  and  the  picture  then  to  be  formed  of 
the  two  figures  grouped  one  above  the  other, 
was  not  readily  accomplished.  The  whole 
action  in  the  representation  was  probably  not 
more  than  thirty  seconds.  But  not  seconds, 
nor  minutes,  but  hours  were  spent  before  the 
lesson  was  pronounced  perfect  by  the  patient 
teacher,    who    had   her    reward    later    on    in 

the 


Charlotte  Cushman.  25 

the  deafening  applause  that  followed  the 
effect. 

New  Orleans  in  those  clays,  with  its  criti-  xew  Orleans 
cal  French  element,  had,  I  think,  the  most audiences- 
exacting  audiences  I  ever  played  before,  but 
also  the  most  generous.  You  could  not  help 
acting  well  to  them.  In  the  first  place,  they 
listened.  No  society  buzz,  except  between  the 
acts,  when  the  French  opera  especially  rep- 
resented a  fashionable  party  —  every  one  in 
full  dress,  —  gentlemen  and  even  ladies  visit- 
ing from  box  to  box.  There  was  no  chance 
with  them  for  covering  up  an  imperfect  sen- 
tence or  bungling  error.  They  were  listening, 
and  then,  upon  the  silence  their  satisfaction, 
when  aroused,  broke  forth  in  that  especially 
local,  sharp,  quick,  hearty  recognition,  and 
the  "  Brava"  that  rang  through  the  house,  as 
on  this  occasion,  was  inspiration. 

In  all  great  successes  we  can  trace  three  The  three  quaii. 
qualities  :  the  power  of  concentration  —  rivet- ties  reciUISlte  to 

1  ■  success. 

ting  every  force  upon  the  one  unwavering 
aim  —  perseverance  in  the  pursuit  of  our 
undertaking,  — and  the  courage  to  enable  us  to 
bear  up  under  all  trials,  disappointments  and 
temptations  that  assail  us  in  this  life  of  pro- 
bation. As  I  remember  the  friend  Miss 
Harriet  Martineau  tells  us  of,  who,  "at  the  age 
of  eighty,  renewed  the  lease  of  her  house  for 

fourteen 


26  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

fourteen  years,"  I  marvel  at  the  strength  of 
that  woman's  heart;  for  surely  "there's  the 
rub."  Bone  and  sinew  may  hold  out  against 
the  wear  and  tear  of  life.  At  the  worst,  they 
have  seasons  of  rest,  more  or  less  imperfect ; 
but  the  never-ceasing  heart  and  brain,  with 
their  delicate  mechanism,  must  be  tough 
withal  that  can  last  out  the  allotted  span  and 
retain  hope  and  courage. 
MissCushman       Miss    CusJunau    was  a  most    helpful    and 

an  example  of  .,   . 

striking  example.     Whatever  she  undertook 


courage,  con 
ce 


titration  and  was  c]one  with  all  her  energy.     No  lack-lustre 

perseverance. 

work,  no  half-hearted  interest,  no  divided  at- 
tention, no  cowardly  shrinking.  With  all 
her  talent,  she  could  not  have  been  what  she 
was  without  constant  labor,  persistent  effort, 
and  a  brave  heart.  Who,  that  ever  heard  her 
speak  of  her  London  debut,  could  forget  the 
description  she  gave  of  sitting  in  her  simple 
lodging  in  anxious  waiting,  hoping  against 
hope.  Poor,  unattractive  and  unknown  — 
what  chance  had  she  ?  In  her  agony  of  dread 
and  doubt,  looking  back  upon  the  past,  and 
forward  to  the  future,  she  brooded  upon 
the  struggle  which,  as  bread-winner  for  those 
she  loved,  she  felt  for  them,  more  than  for 
herself.  It  is  not  enough  in  this  world  that 
we  pray  for  help,  we  must  help  ourselves,  and 
this    night  was    to   be    Charlotte    CusJunaii  s 

crucial 


Charlotte  Cushman.  2J 

crucial  test.  As  the  clock  gave  out  the  hour 
for  her  going  to  the  theatre,  she  sprang  to  her 
feet,  and,  with  clasped  hands,  cried  out  aloud 
for  the  power  which  she  felt  to  be  within  her, 
to  be  given  to  her  grasp  in  all  its  fulness, 
and  it  was.  She  slept  in  the  little  lodging 
that  night  laurel  crowned.  She  awoke  the 
following  morning  to  find  herself  famous  ! 

After  her  retirement,  and  a  sojourn  of,  iHerretumto 
think,  eight  years  in  Rome,  she  came  home  thestage- 
to  her  native  land,  to  her  life-long  friends,  to 
her  "dearly  loved"  and  trusted  doctors,  in 
whom  she  had  the  most  pathetic  confidence,  to 
see  if  there  was  any  cure  for  a  terrible  and  ex- 
hausting disease.  She  told  of  their  decision 
against  it  in  all  calmness  ;  and  while  taking 
strength  from  a  nervous  clasping  of  the  hands 
(I  have  seen  this  in  others  of  like  tempera- 
ment) she  added  with  fervor:  "But,  my  clear 
doctors  here  have  taught  me  how  to  live  with 
my  trouble."  I  grew  cold  and  sick  as  I  thought 
what  "her  trouble  "  must  have  been  when  she 
needed  to  be  taught  how  to  live  with  it.  The  al-  Acting  as  an 

leviation  they  proposed  was  that  she  should  re 

J  l       r  pain 

turn  to  her  readings,  even  perhaps  the  stage, 
that  the  excitement  of  the  old  life  might 
awaken  new  interests,  and  if  possible  afford 
relief  in  the  necessary  strain  of  every  faculty. 
The  triumph  of  mind  over  matter  was  ex- 
emplified 


alleviation  of 


ances. 


28  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

emplified  in  this  rare  woman.  Without  one 
personal  charm  of  face  or  figure,  as  the 
beautiful  Queen  Katherine,  the  lovely 
Rosalind,  she  did  not  woo  her  audience,  she 
seized  upon  them. 

At  home,  abroad,  she  was  sought  out  in 
every  drawing  room.  She  not  only  attracted 
but  held  her  listeners.  Beauty  and  coloring 
are  indigenous  to  every  soil,  but  this  American 
stood  alone.  Dimpled  feminine  grace  could 
not  strike  the  balance  against  the  genius  and 
power  of  a  grand  soul. 
Last  appear-  I  heard  her  read  in  the  Music  Hall  in  one 
of  her  last  readings.  I  saw  her  act  at  the 
Globe  Theatre  in  one  of  her  last  perfor- 
mances upon  the  stage.  The  hair  was  white, 
but  the  old  fire  was  intense  as  ever.  I  have 
seen  other  famous  Queen  Katherines,  but  as 
the  words  come  back  upon  my  ear,  "My 
Lord  Cardinal,  to  you  I  speak,"  I  seem  to 
remember  only  that  one  ringing  voice,  the 
averted  head,  the  magnificent  pose,  the  gran- 
deur of  the  out-stretched  arm,  the  power, 
even  in  the  pointed  finger,  and  the  thrill  that 
held  me  spell-bound. 

Others  have  found  their  imitators  and  suc- 
cessors. The  force  of  Charlotte  Cushmans 
genius  so  stamped  our  memories  that  we 
cannot  regret  that  the  great  queen's  throne 
remains  empty.  chapter 


CHAPTER    II. 


Edwin  Forrest. 

The  theatre  is  indeed  a  little  world  in  itself,  The  theatre  a 
and  behind  the  scenes  a  very  strange  world  new  worId' 
to  the  uninitiated  ;  so  strange,  that  as  a  girl 
I  experienced  a  sort  of  "Alice  in  Wonder- 
land" feeling  in  reaching  the  Mecca  of  my 
desires.  The  walrus  and  the  carpenter  and  the 
young  oysters,  hand  in  hand,  could  not  have 
astonished  me  more  than  the  odd  combina- 
tion of  characters  and  their  queer  surround- 
ings, as  I  found  them  in  the  beehive  of 
industry,  —  behind  the  scenes.  The  very  use 
of  words  made  its  language  a  foreign  tongue. 
I  was  told  to  go  off  at  "  the  tormentor,"  and 
that  meant,  as  I  learned,  to  leave  the  stage 
by  the  door  nearest  the  audience.  I  was 
sent  to  my  dressing  room  "in  the  flies  "  with 
a  young  girl,  who  informed  me  she  was  "  a 
walking  lady,"  the  name  given  to  a  class  of 
parts  in  theatres,  but  having  a  singular  sound 
in  my  ears,  until,  upon  close  observance  of  the 
performance  that  night,  I  thought  I  had  solved 

the 


jo  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

the  problem  for  myself,  for  I  saw  she  did  not 
sit  down.  In  those  days  we  had  to  serve 
an  apprenticeship,  and  with  most  of  us  it  was 
a  hard  one.  May  no  poor  child  in  like  cir- 
cumstances sink  down  discouraged,  thinking 
all  the  world  is  turned  against  her  as  the  weeks 
go  by,  and  nothing  but  failure  comes  to  crown 
her  efforts  !  Even  when  success  does  follow, 
no  triumph  can  be  won  without  many  a  defeat 
and  many  a  wound.  How  many,  only  those 
who  have  fought  the  battle  of  life  can  realize ! 
Mygratitudeto  But  there  are  kind  hearts,  by  the  way,  and 
3 '  I  have  met  with  many,  —  God  bless  them  ! 
To  no  one  do  I  owe  so  deep  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude as  to  the  late  Edwin  Forrest.  He  was 
playing  an  engagement  at  the  old  Broadway 
Theatre  when  I  arrived,  a  stranger  in  New 
York  ;  and  my  astonishment  is  great  today 
when  I  remember  I  had  the  desperate  cour- 
age to  go  to  his  hotel  and  ask  for  him, 
like  any  common  mortal,  and  greater  far,  that 
he  came  in  answer  to  the  summons  —  came  in 
all  the  simple  dignity  so  pre-eminently  his, 
so  often  found  accompanying  true  genius. 
The  boldness  of  the  step  1  took  will  miss  its 
point  unless  the  reader  appreciates  the  impor- 
Actors'  emhu-  tance  °f  such  a  person  in  my  esteem.  Actors 
siasm  for  good  are,  as  a  race,  heartily  cordial  in  their  recog- 
nition of  talent.      Neither  money  nor  power 

nor 


Edwin  Forrest.  ji 

nor  social  position  weigh  with  them  against 
it.  They  may  not  like  the  man,  but  they  will 
stand  at  the  side  scenes  night  after  night,  and 
lose  themselves  in  honest  admiration  of  the 
artist.  I  may  have  been  more  than  ordinar- 
ily impressionable,  but  the  coming  of  every 
crowned  head  in  Europe  would  not  have 
filled  me  with  the  awe  I  felt  as  the  servant 
showed  me  into  a  little  parlor  where  I 
awaited  the  great  tragedian.  And  another 
important  point  must  be  considered  :  I  fully 
realized  the  value  of  Mr.  Forrest's  time.  A 
conspicuous  man  was  worried  then,  as  now, 
with  a  thousand  little  annoyances  that  beset 
public  people ;  demands  for  assistance  from 

.  .         The  demands 

those  who  seem  to  think  an  actor  owns  a  mint  upon  a  great 
of  his  own  ;  stage-struck  youths  and  damsels  actor's  time- 
who  implore,  if  nothing  else,  entrance  behind 
the  scenes  ;  requests  for  his  autograph  ;  pho- 
tographers wanting  a  picture  ;  ambitious 
young  play-writers  who  coolly  request  the  ar- 
tist to  give  his  brain  in  criticism  of  a  maiden 
effort,  even  if  he  does  not  accept  the  tragedy  ; 
not  to  speak  of  the  applications  such  a  man 
receives,  asking  him  to  act  for  this  charity  or 
that,  by  people  who  would  be  never  so  sur- 
prised if  you  were  constantly  making  calls 
upon  them  for  the  same  value  in  merchan- 
dise ;  and  then  the  ordinary  business  to  be 

attended 


J 2  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

attended  to ;  social  matters  to  remember ; 
besides  the  artist's  own  reading ;  study ;  re- 
hearsals ;  travel ;  and  at  least  four  or  five  hours 
given  to  acting,  dressing  and  undressing,  every 
night,  six  days  out  of  seven  !  There  were  no 
matinees  to  make  a  seventh  and  eighth  per- 
formance at  this  time,  but  the  work  was 
much  harder  than  it  is  now,  since  we  had  not 
entered  upon  the  "  long  run  "  of  plays.  Stars 
followed  each  other  in  quick  succession,  and, 
although  many  legitimate  pieces  were  repeated 
they  involved  constant  rehearsals.  What 
wonder  if  some  hedging  and  fencing  was 
found  necessary,  then  as  now,  to  gain  rest  and 
Mr.  Forrest's  recreation.  But  the  ceremony  that  conceit 
accessibility.  affects  am0ng  some,  in  the  ranks,  makes  the 
simplicity  of  the  great  General  more  forcibly 
and  gratefully  remembered. 
interview  with  On  introducing  myself,  I  briefly  stated  that 
Mr.  Forrest.  my  q^j  ect  in  seeking  him  was  to  ask  an  open- 
ing in  the  city  of  New  York,  for,  by  making  an 
appearance  under  his  auspices  something 
might  surely  come  of  it.  The  grave  and 
taciturn  man  listened  to  all  I  had  to  say, 
evidently  pitying  my  distress,  for  he  knew 
this  was  no  case  of  "going  on  the  stage" 
for  any  gratification  of  personal  conceit 
or  silly  vanity,  but  an  earnest  appeal  of  a 
fellow-worker  in  sore  need  of  work.  Never- 
theless, 


Edwin  Forrest.  JJ 

theless,  he  told  me  frankly  I  was  too  young 
to  play  before  a  metropolitan  audience,  and 
his  advice  was  that  I  should  return  to  Nash- 
ville (whence  I  had  come)  for  a  year  or  two, 
and  acquire  more  experience.  These  words 
took  almost  the  last  "  straw  from  the  drown- 
ing man,"  and  pride,  if  there  were  any,  went 
under,  leaving  honest  poverty  to  speak  for 
itself,  which  it  did  in  the  frank  confession 
that  I  had  spent  all  my  money  to  bring  me  to 
New  York,  and  in  New  York,  therefore,  I 
must  take  my  chance  of  earning  more. 

"  You  will  be  worse  off  yet  if  you  play  here 
and  fail." 

"  But,  Mr.  Forrest,  in  Richelieu  you  say 
'there's  no  such  word  as  fail.'" 

Whether  the  reply  struck  him  as  a  happy  Kindness  to  a 
one,  or  his  own  goodness  of  heart  spoke  for  me, Joung  a:,P'rant- 
suffice  it  to  say  he  did  seem  pleased  with  the 
answer,  and  from  that  moment  my  star  was 
in  the  ascendant.  I  was  first  told  to  read  to 
him,  then  asked  what  I  wanted  to  play, 
"  Lady  Macbeth  or  Pauline  ?  " 

"  Neither  Lady  Macbeth  nor  Pauline,  but 
any  part,  however  small,  that  you  think  I 
am  competent  to  play." 

If  my  most  ardent  well  wisher  had  cud- 
gelled his  brains  for  a  successful  debut,  he 
could  not  have  clone  better  for  me  than  Mr. 

Forrest 


J^f  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Virginia  select-  Forrest,  when,  after  a  two  hours'  ordeal,  in 
edtormyNew  whicn  I  Was  made  to  read  first  one  author  and 

l  ork  debut. 

then  another,  he  finally  decided  upon  Virginia 
for  a  first  appearance.  I  learned  afterward  he 
had  not  been  able  to  play  Virginius  for  two 
years,  not  having  a  youthful  and  at  the  same 
time  competent  Roman  maiden  ;  for  while  this 
character  wants  a  sufficiently  trained  actress 
to  let  acting  alone  (a  delicate  touch  of  art,  let 
me  say)  the  part  is  not  one  to  make  greater 
demands  than  a  young  girl  can  fulfil.  When 
the  night  of  the  performance  came,  Mr.  For- 
rest sent  to  my  dressing  room  to  say  he 
wished  to  see  me.  My  costume  was  severely 
simple,  my  only  ornament  the  fillet  of  white 
ribbon  holding  back  hair  that  fell  to  my 
knees,  which  my  mother  had  let  loose,  think- 
ing it  in  keeping  with  the  childish  appearance 
the  character  demanded.  As  I  emerged 
from  my  room  an  interested,  kindly  soul 
would  have  held  me  back  while  she  coiled  up 
the  veil  of  tresses  before  inspection,  for  as 
she  said,  "  He  never  would  allow  that."     But 

Preparing  for  a  .  .... 

stern  judgment,  there  he  was  looming  up  in  the  distance,  im- 
patient, as  I  felt,  at  any  delay.  Right  or  wrong 
I  stood  before  him.  He  took  a  general  sur- 
vey, from  head  to  foot,  with  an  absolutely 
immovable  countenance,  then  in  solemn 
silence,  shifted  his  position  to  the  side,  and 

in 


Edwin  Forrest.  J$ 

in  an  instant  had  run  his  hand  under  the 
offending  hair  at  the  roots.  Using  his  fingers 
for  a  comb  he  carried  it  to  the  ends.  The 
fear  of  his  displeasure  gave  me  courage  to 
say,  "I  can  put  it  up  if  you  don't  like  it." 
Imagine  the  relief  when  the  gruff  reply  came, 
"  I  do  ;  it's  your  own,"  and  after  another  sus- 
pension of  breath  on  my  part  and  yet  another 
savagely  silent  examination  on  his,  he  growled 
out:  "Little  pale,  but  you'll  do."  This  Mr  Forrest.s 
sentence  from  the  lips  of  my  judge,  moderate  merciful  ver- 
and  merciful  from  him,  gave  me  a  convulsive 
sensation  of  gratitude  that  almost  choked 
me,  and,  with  set  teeth  and  clenched  hands, 
in  the  dim  silence  of  that  strange  theatre  did 
I  pray  the  verdict  of  the  public  that  night 
might  be  no  less,  for  on  that  depended  "daily 
bread  "  for  me  and  mine. 

When,  in  obedience  to  the  call  of  Virginius,  stage  fright 
I  made  my  first  appearance  in  the  doorway  at  iuel  e  „  v  Mr* 

J  r  l  j  .borrest  s  per- 

the  back  of  the  stage  and  faced  the  crowded  sonation  of 
theatre,  the  applause  so  warmly  bestowed 
frightened  me  even  more  than  I  had  been 
frightened  before.  As  I  stood  in  the  deep 
trough  of  that  sea  of  people  (for  that  is  what 
a  closely  packed  auditorium  most  resem- 
bles when  viewed  from  that  point)  I  felt 
paralyzed  and  speechless  ;  until,  through  the 
tumult,   there    came    to    me    a    man's   voice 

wooing 


j6  Yesterdays  ivitJi  Actors. 

wooing  and  tender,  saying :  "  Don't  be 
frightened.  Come  to  me  ;  you're  all  right. 
Come!"  So  real  was  the  illusion,  so  strong, 
so  perfect,  so  true  was  the  personation  of  the 
Roman  father  that,  at  his  word,  I  was  by  his 
side  ;  his  child  Virginia,  —  stilled,  comforted 
and  safe. 
Mr.  Forrest's  The  tenderness  of  the  characterization  was 
in  singular  contrast  with  the  severity  and  re- 
moteness of  the  man.  It  will  always  be  a  sin- 
cere regret  to  me  that,  never  while  he  lived, 
could  I  express  myself  to  my  benefactor  as  my 
heart  prompted.  So  reserved,  so  business-like, 
so  impersonal  in  his  teaching  was  he. 

Pauline  taught       If  l  did  not  PlaY  Pauline  at  that  time,   I 
me.  learned  to  do   so    in  the   time  to   come.     A 

scene  from  the  Lady  of  Lyons  had  been 
made  one  of  my  test  readings,  so  having 
begun  upon  the  part,  Mr.  Forrest  expressed 
his  willingness  to  give  me  another  appoint- 
ment and  then  another,  until  it  should  be 
finished.  Such  a  master  naturally  found 
plenty  of  faults.  My  want  of  .feeling  espec- 
ially induced  him  to  repeat  some  of  the 
speeches  for  me.  And  when  in  years  that 
followed  I  did  play  Pauline,  I  never  lingered 
on  the  words,  "  What  was  the  slight  of  a 
poor,  powerless  girl  ?"  as  he  had  taught  me, 
without  the  incongruous  Gladiator  in  con- 
nection 


Edwin  Forrest.  37 

nection  with  the   "poor,  powerless  girl"  re- 
curring to  my  mind. 

I  naturally  desire  to  speak  with  a  grate- 
ful appreciation  of  Mr.  Forrest  and  all  I 
consider  he  did  for  me.  This  one  act  of 
disinterested  goodness  was  the  means  of 
opening  various  avenues.  Within  a  week  I 
was  engaged  for  the  summer  season  in  Mon- 
treal, Mr.  Jo/111  Biickland  manager ;  and  for 
the  following  winter  I  signed  articles  with 
Mr.  William  E.  Burton  for  his  Chambers 
Street  Theatre,  New  York. 

Edwin   Forrest   rose,  as  all    know,  to  the  Mr.  Forrest's 
most  lofty  height  in  his  profession  by  inherent  commandin& 

■'  °  1  -'  genius. 

force  of  genius.  There  was  no  fantastical 
advertising  necessary  in  his  case.  His  own 
iron  will  and  indomitable  perseverance  went 
hand  in  hand  with  his  great  power  and  car- 
ried him  upward  and  onward  in  his  career. 
His  very  faults  were  the  outgrowth  of  his 
Jay.  Coarse,  muscular  physique  and  sten-  Mr.  Forrest's 
torian  lungs  were  more  in    accordance  with  faults  those  of 

0  the  taste  of  the 

the  requirements  of  the  stage  during  the  first  day. 
half  of  the  century  in  America  than  the  so- 
called  "  natural  "  school  that  followed,  and 
which  in  turn  is  opening  up  a  new  era  of  a 
higher  and  better  taste  again.  Had  Edwin 
Forrest  been  born  twenty  years  later,  no 
roughness  would  have  dimmed  the  lustre  of 

the 


j8  Yesterdays  with  Aetors. 

the  diamond  in  his  prime,  any  more  than  in 
his  later  performances.  Apropos  of  one  of 
these  occasions.  A  well  known  lady  in  Bos- 
ton, was  the  fortunate  means  of  taking  a  little 
party  of  critical  people  to  the  Boston  Theatre, 
when  the  tragedian  was  to  appear  in  Riche- 
lieu.    Her  friends  were  filled  with  prejudice  ; 

Prejudice         they  argued  loud  and  long,  all  to  no  purpose  ; 

agamst  Mr.      ^q  was  broad,  they   narrow,  narrow  as  the 

t  orrest.  J 

streets  of  their  dear   native    city,  intolerant 
as  the  Puritans  of  old  who  trod  them. 
Had  they  ever  seen  Mr.  Forrest  act  ? 
No.     Neither  did  they  wish  to  do  so.     They 
knew  what  he  was,  "  all  sound  and  fury,  signi- 
fying nothing;"  besides,  the  man  was  socially 
ostracized,  and  that  was  enough.     We  read 
of  the  French  court,  "as  they  grew  in    ex- 
quisite refinement  of  manner  they  troubled 
themselves  less  about  morals."     Heaven  save 
the  mark!    Is  there  no  via  media?    However, 
in  a  contentious  spirit,  but  for  love  of  their 
hostess,  they  consented  to  accompany  her  to 
her  box  at  the  theatre.  When  Richelieu  entered 
a  conquest  by  they  were  too  well  bred  not  to  affect  a  certain 
his  perform-     silent  interest.     That  was  enough.     He  came, 
Richelieu.        ilciQy  saw>  ^e  conquered !     The   scholar  and 
the  artist  in  the  auditorium  could  not  but  recog- 
nize the  scholar  and  the  artist  on  the  stage, 
his  every  tone  and  look,  the  very  play  of  his 

hands, 


Edzviu  Forrest.  jg 

hands,  were  so  studiously  observed  and  so 
historically  correct.  The  power  and  magne- 
tism that  in  Richelieu  held  all  France, 
through  Edwin  Forrest  cast  its  charm  upon 
the  audience,  and  Richelieu  lived  again. 
When  the  curtain  fell  upon  the  last  act,  the 
party  of  critical  friends  were,  without  an  ex- 
ception, as  lavish  of  their  enthusiasm  as  the 
actor's  warmest  admirer  could  desire,  and  the 
impression  of  that  performance  remains  with 
them  to  this  day. 

What  Mr.  Edzviu  Forrest  might  have  been  Mr.  Forrest's 
in  his  youth  I  do  not  know.  In  my  recollec-  anddiarity/ 
tion  he  was  most  unpopular  with  his  profes- 
sional brethren.  His  manner  certainly  was 
far  from  conciliating,  yet  never  did  kinsman 
do  more  for  his  clan.  While  he  lived  there 
were  many  of  his  beneficiaries  who  never 
knew  to  whom  they  were  indebted. 

One  instance  I  can  quote  that  came  under 
my  own  eye.  A  card  was  left  at  Mr.  For- 
rest's  house  in  Philadelphia,  saying  : 

"  Dear  Sir  :  Do  you  know  old  Mr. is  ill 

and  in  need  ?  " 

In  less  than  an    hour    an    unstamped  en- 
velope, addressed  in  an  unknown    hand,  in- 
closing 


4o 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


A  seasonable 
gift  to  a  fellow 
actor. 


Hamlet  and 
Rosencrantz. 


closing  one  hundred  dollars,  was  lying  on  the 
sick  man's  bed.     In  another  hour  the  patient 
was  sleeping  peacefully  without  fever,  as    he 
had  not  slept  for   several  days    and    nights. 
His  life  was  saved,   thanks  to  his  unknown 
physician.     "  Heartsease  "  had  done  its  work. 
On  another  occasion,  in  the  green-room  of 
the  National  Theatre  at  Washington,  a  poor 
fellow  was  telling  a  sympathetic  comrade  of 
his  hard  lot;  how  he  was  obliged  to  continue 
on  with  his  inferior  situation  and  insufficient 
salary,   because  half  a  loaf  was  better  than 
none  for  his  wife  and  little  ones,  the  special 
aggravation  being  that,  although  he  had  filled 
in  the  present  gap  with  the  understanding 
he  should  go  if  a  better  chance  offered  ;  now, 
when  the  offer  came  of  an  excellent  position 
and  like    remuneration,   he    must    refuse    it 
for   lack  of   traveling  expenses,   for   a    long 
journey.     Just  now  a  single  fare  was  more 
than  he  could  obtain.  All  were  called  upon  the 
stage   or  had   left  the  green-room  exceptng 
the  poverty-stricken  husband  and  father,  who 
sat  looking  on  his  letter  of  engagement  with 
longing,  hungry  eyes.     The  Hamlet  of   the 
night    was  dressing  where  a  thin   partition, 
not  reaching  to  the  ceiling,  had  forced  the 
conversation  in  upon  his  own  quietness,  and, 

striding 


Edwin  Forrest.  41 

striding  forward  out  of  his  "  bin  "  to  the  Ions: 
looking-glass  in  the  green-room,  as  if  every 
thought  were  given  to  the  set  of  his  "  inky 
cloak,"  while  indeed  his  eyes  were  search- 
ingly  bent  on  the  man  behind  him — he  doubt- 
less recognized  the  Rosencrantz  of  the  play, 
a  faithful  and  attentive  co-laborer.  The 
"  star  "  wheeled  suddenly  round  as  if  hesi- 
tating an  instant  before  even  offering  a 
helping  hand  to  a  self-respecting  friend,  and 
then,  with  a  quick  action,  dropped  a  purse  into 
the  lap  of  the  astonished  recipient,  saying, 
"  Did  I  hear  you  wanted  the  money  for  your 
travelling  expenses.  There  it  is  ;  don't  say 
where  you  got  it."  And,  without  waiting  for 
acceptance  or  refusal,  the  Prince  of  Denmark 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

Were  these  well-springs  by  the  dusty  road- 
side of  life  all,  they  were  enough  to  keep 
fresh  flowers  upon  a  grave,  and  prove  that 
"a  great  man's  memory  may  outlive  his  life  a  great  man's 
half  a  year,  even  if  he  did  not  build  churches."  raemor>'- 
But  Mr.  Edwin  Forrest  did  more,  much 
more.  When  an  Englishman  shows  you  the 
home  of  the  Chelsea  pensioners,  it  is  with  a 
feeling  of  just  pride  in  a  glorious  national 
institution,  and  the  heart  must  be  stony  that 
does  not  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  old  men,  after 

the 


42  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day,  resting  upon 
their  laurels  till  they  shall  answer  "  Adsum  " 
to  their  names  at  the  last  and  pass  on  to 
"the  presence  of  their  Master." 

I  quote  this  institution  because  it  always 
suggested   a   model    home  to  me,    free,    un- 
trammelled, hospitable  and  simple. 
Generosity  of        There    are   dramatic  funds   and    societies, 
actors.  and  much  assistance  is  given  by  the  more  for- 

tunate of  a  class  that  is  always  charitable  and 
ready,  in  fact  never  saying  nay.  I  have  seen  an 
appeal  put  up  in  a  green-room  asking  help, 
and  in  two  hours  every  soul  in  the  theatre 
had  made  some  subscription  from  twenty-five 
dollars  to  twenty-five  cents.  But,  because  the 
refined  in  any  sphere  shrink  from  making  their 
wants  known,  there  are  many  cases  of  crying 
need  that  must  be  helped  by  other  methods, 
why  actors      No  people  require  to  be  pensioned  in  one  way 

often  need  ...  i      r  • 

hel  or  another  so  much,  tor  various  reasons,  as  ac- 

tors ;  one  being  that,  as  a  general  thing,  they 
are  singularly  deficient  in  business  knowl- 
edge, and,  for  the  most  part,  —  childlike  and 
bountiful  themselves,  they  are  without  the 
least  suspicion  of  double  dealing  in  others. 
What  wonder,  if,  having  passed  out  of  the 
sunshine,  they  are  left  without  the  artificial 
warmth  so  necessary  for  the  shade? 

About 


Edwin  Forrest.  43 

About  three  miles  from  the  city  of  Phila- The  Forrest 
delphia,  in  its  own  spacious  grounds,  stands  ome' 
the  Forrest  Home  for  Old  Actors  and  Ac- 
tresses. The  home  contains  not  only  com- 
forts, but  luxuries,  statuary,  pictures,  and  Mr. 
Forrest's  own  magnificent  library.  It  has  also 
a  beautiful  garden,  a  portion  of  which  is  al- 
lowed to  each  resident  for  his  own  use.  Above 
and  beyond  all,  this  foundation  was  not  in- 
tended to  be  regarded  by  its  inmates  as  a 
charity.  They  are  welcome  guests,  with 
"good  quarters,  good  food,  good  light  and 
fire,  and  good  friends,"  their  privacy  respect- 
ed, their  pride  tenderly  dealt  with,  their  indi- 
vidual requirements  considered.  Even  when 
they  are  desirous  of  paying  a  visit  to  a  rela- 
tive or  a  friend,  help  is  given,  funds  are 
pressed  upon  the  grateful  pensioner,  and  all 
in  a  delicate  way,  which  heals,  not  hurts, 
the  most  sensitive  soul.  Many  visitors  are 
received  by  the  little  band  ;  many  favors  ac- 
corded them.  These  faithful  servants,  who  Not  a  charity, 
have  broken  down  in  the  service  of  their  art,  h,u,t:ln  £°"or" 

'  able  retreat. 

are  made  to  feel  that  they  are  only  adequately 
rewarded  by  one  whose  bequest  was  made  for 
that  art's  sake,  which  he  had  likewise  served 
so  loyally  ;  while  those  who  can  do  so  are 
provided  in  various  ways  with  opportunity  for 

independence 


44  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

independence  and  self-support,  especially  in 
the  way  of  instruction  in  elocution,  dramatic 
expression,  the  use  of  the  weapons  now  relin- 
quished by  the  tired  veteran.  "  Here  would 
be  a  place  for  an  old  fellow  when  his  career  is 
over,  to  hang  his  sword  up,  to  humble  his 
soul,  and  to  wait  thankfully  for  the  end." 
And  this  is  the  work  of  one  man.  Blessed 
be  the  memory  of  the  founder! 


CHAPTER 


CHAPTER    III. 


John  Brougham. 

The  stage  in  my  girlhood  was  a  place  of  The  hard  work 
poorly  paid  respectability  and  hard  work,  °f  the  s^ge  in 
—  the  one  as  unquestionable  as  the  other.  In 
those  days  a  "  walking  lady's  "  whole  ward- 
robe consisted  of  white  muslin  frocks.  Lucky 
was  she  if,  as  in  my  own  case,  there  was  a 
chest  of  old  East  Indian  riches  to  convert 
into  flounces  and  tucks  and  ruffles  and  over- 
skirts.  With  that,  and  a  few  sashes,  I  had 
all  the  variety  expected  of  me.  Well  do  I 
remember  "  the  event  "  of  a  first  silk  dress, 
the  almost  anxious  delight  in  thinking 
whether  it  should  be  pink  or  blue,  the  inde- 
cision between  a  flower  and  a  stripe,  the  ter- 
rible moment  of  cutting  and  fitting,  and,  after 
all  was  over,  and  the  dress  complete,  the 
wrapping  of  the  choice  morsel  up,  and  laying 
it  away  in  lavender  as  too  good  for  common 
wear. 

I 


46 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Improvidence 
of  actors. 


Necessary  ex- 
penses of  an 

actress. 


I  know  that  actors  and  actresses  are 
usually  regarded  as  improvident  ;  but  take 
the  same  temperament,  it  will  remain  the 
same,  whatever  may  be  the  surroundings.  A 
close,  cautious,  saving  habit  does  not  fit  into 
a  free,  generous  nature,  and,  however  praise- 
worthy that  saving  may  be,  we  do  not  find  it 
in  excess  among  people  whose  health  and 
strength  is  given  for  others.  This  is  often 
the  case  upon  the  stage,  and,  as  a  conse- 
quence, actors  are  poor,  because  they  have  so 
many  to  support.  Upon  this  question,  too, 
of  improvidence,  let  it  be  remembered  the 
theatre  makes  not  temptations  only,  but 
actual  necessity  to  spend.  Take  a  simple 
case  in  point.  An  actress  must  be  at  re- 
hearsal at  a  certain  time,  let  her  condition  of 
health  be  what  it  may ;  let  the  storm  be 
never  so  severe,  she  must  be  there.  She 
must  not  stand  for  some  hours  in  damp 
clothing,  for  she  dare  not  risk  hoarseness  or 
rheumatism.  Illness  in  a  servant  of  the  pub- 
lic will  not  be  received  understandingly  by 
them  nor  with  sympathy  by  the  management. 
Each  individual  is  only  a  part  of  a  great 
machine,  and  the  loss  of  one  small  rubber  on 
the  wheel  may  produce  a  most  unpleasant 
friction.  Therefore,  though  a  carriage  might 
seem    an    extravagance    in    one    of    such    a 

meagre 


JoJui  Brougham.  47 

meagre  income,  to  the  actress  it  is  a  necessary 
economy.  The  same  again  for  the  perfor- 
mance. The  play  cannot  go  on  without  her ; 
she  must  be  there  at  any  cost.  That  "  she  Thc  .  of  the 
must  be  there"  reminds  me  that  when  the Coiieen Bawn 
Colleen  Bawn  first  achieved  its  great  sue-  o'Co°nnor! 5 
cess  at  the  Boston  Museum  —  which  had  no 
back  entrance  —  I  found  myself  one  evening 
at  the  foot  of  a  great  staircase  blocked  with 
the  slowly  surging  crowd.  To  win  my  way 
step  by  step  with  them  would  have  made 
me  late.  Swallowed  up  in  the  vortex, 
what  was  I  to  do  ?  Gentle  pushings  met 
with  more  violent  rejoinders.  A  whispered 
request  to  be  allowed  to  pass  was  answered  by 
a  rude,  "  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  lose  my 
chance  to  see  the  play?"  Finally  I  lost  all 
reserve  in  my  distress,  and  cried  out  : 
"There'll  be  no  play  without  me;  I'm  the 
Colleen  Bawn."  The  crowd  parted,  and 
the  quick  response,  '•  It's  the  Colleen 
Bawn."  "Bless  her,  its  Eily  O'Connor,"  re- 
vealed by  their  Celtic  accents  and  quick  court- 
esy the  warm-hearted  kinsfolk  of  the  Irish 
heroine  who  were  thronging  the  theatre.  I 
know  of  a  play  once,  however,  that  did  go  on 
without  the  principal  part.  True,  there  was  John  Brouo.h. 
only  one  man  who  would  have  dared  to  at-  am's  character- 
tempt  it,  only  one  man  who  could  have  done  b 

so 


48  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

so  successfully,  and  that  was  John  Broug- 
ham—  genial,  sanguine,  clever,  witty,  gentle- 
manly John  Brougham.  It  was  in  his  own 
burlesque  of  Pocahontas.  One  night,  at 
the  height  of  its  success,  with  a  ferocious 
snow  storm  raging  without,  Wallack's  elegant 
little  theatre,  as  usual,  packed  within,  a  whis- 
per ran  behind  the  scenes,  "The  Pocahontas 
Pocahontas  °^  tne  night  has  not  arrived ! "  The  time 
late-  came  for  the  ringing  up  of  the  curtain  —  still 

she  did  not  appear.  The  whole  company  was 
there,  gathered  in  little  groups  about  the 
scenes,  but,  without  the  principal  character, 
they  were  useless.  The  back  door  was  con- 
stantly interviewed,  boys  were  sent  off  in 
every  direction ;  five  minutes,  ten  minutes, 
fifteen  minutes  past  the  proper  time  ;  a  last 
lingering  look  in  the  direction  of  the  back 
door,  where  panting,  snowclad  messengers 
rushed  in  from  their  cold  hunt,  but  no  squaw 
had  they  bagged  !  Every  one  looked  serious. 
A  slight  indication  of  restlessness  began  to 
assert  itself  on  the  part  of  the  audience. 
"  Go  on,"  said  John  Brougham,  and  the 
The  play  with-  prornpter  did  "  go  on."     The  orchestra  struck 

out  the  heroine.  r  r  ° 

up  the  well  known  melody.  Everybody,  in 
breathless  astonishment,  took  their  "  situa- 
tions "  as  the  father  of  the  burlesque  and  the 
lost  child   coolly  announced  that   he   should 

play 


JoJin  Brougham.  4.9 

play  the  piece  without  her.  The  curtain  rose 
on  "smoking,  joking  Powhatan,"  swinging 
himself  and  his  majestic  cloak  into  the  circle 
of  his  subjects,  and  the  King  played  not  only 
his  own  part,  but,  with  his  quick  and  ready 
wit  and  irresistible  humor,  managed  to  weave 
in  the  lines  of  the  absentee ;  at  one  moment 
confiding  to  the  actors,  "That  is  what  Poca- 
hontas would  say  if  she  were  here,"  or 
in  turn  asking  sympathy  of  his  audience  for 
anything  on  his  part  "  rather  slow,"  but  "I'm 
naturally  affected,  having  lost  my  papoose  in 
the  snow,"  until  the  merriment  knew  no 
bounds,  and  the  whole  burlesque  was  success- 
fully carried  to  the  end,  to  the  great  amuse- 
ment of  one  and  all  — for  that  was  a  strong 
point  in  Mr.  Brougham's  fun,  he  enjoyed  it  Mr.  Brough- 
himself.  He  and  his  audience  were  on  the  am's  speeches- 
best  of  terms  everywhere,  and  John  Brougham 
before  the  curtain  was  even  more  attractive 
than  John  Brougham  in  the  play.  I  have 
known  people  in  St.  Louis  and  elsewhere  to 
ask  at  the  box  office  when  "  his  speech  "  came 
off,  so  that  failing  to  find  time  for  the  whole 
performance  they  could  come  in  for  that. 
Indeed,  there  grew  up  a  feeling  on  their  part 
that  they  had  been  defrauded  of  their  rights 
if  he  coquettishly  endeavored  to  omit  this 
impromptu  address.    Apropos  of  impromptus, 

a 


JO  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

a  neat  little  bona  fide  inspiration  of  Mr. 
Brougham 's,  as  written  on  Miss  Fanny  Daven- 
port's fan,  ran  thus  : — 

"  A  fan  to  Fan,  although  a  gift  not  great, 
I  fancy  may  be  deemed  appropriate ; 
For  when  you're  fanning  Fanny,  do  you  see, 
You'll  have  to  think  of  your  warm  friend, 

J.  Br 

Acting  in  xew  I  do  not  remember  anything  like  his  Poca- 
York  and  Phil-  hontas  episode  either  before  or  since,  but 
same  night  John  Brougham  was  fond  of  odd  doings. 
Another  of  these  was  acting  in  New  York  in 
the  first  piece  and  in  Philadelphia  in  the  sec- 
ond, on  the  same  night.  This  also  was  a 
complete  success.  He  only  appeared  in  a 
farce  called  the  Three  Clerks  in  New 
York.  A  carriage,  of  course,  was  ready  to 
dash  with  him  to  a  special  train.  In  the 
transit  he  cast  the  skin  of  the  one  part  and 
arrayed  himself  for  the  other,  so  he  was  all 
ready  for  the  stage  when  he  reached  Phila- 
delphia. His  only  hindrance  arose  from  the 
crowd  assembled  by  curious  incredulity  at 
the  announcement  of  the  undertaking,  in  the 
railway  station  and  about  the  back  door  of 
the  theatre.  Entrance  was  forced  with  diffi- 
culty, but  the  delay  of  the  waiting  audience 
inside  was  compensated  by  the  delight  of  the 

immense 


John  Brougham.  J I 

immense  mob  without,  which  hailed  with 
hearty  cheers  the  passage  of  King  Powhatan 
in  full  war  paint.  This  occurred  at  a  time 
when  Mr.  Brougham  was  once  again  holding  Failure  as  a 
the  reins  of  management,  in  which  race  he  mana£cr- 
always  lost,  being  no  practical  man  of  busi- 
ness, and  having  no  more  idea  of  the  value  of 
money  than  just  such  bright,  busy-minded, 
easy-going,  care-shedding,  sanguine  souls  ever 
do    have.     Dazzle,    in    London    Assurance,  ^     ,   ,, 

'  Dazzle   Mr. 

whose  motto  is,  "  An  empty  purse  falling  Brougham's 
through  a  hole  in  the  pocket,"  was  created  by  pr°  °  ype" 
him  as  an  acting  part,  and  has  always  been 
said  to  be  his  own  by  authorship  also  ;  drawn 
by  him  from  his  own  mirror.  But  certainly 
it  was  no  fault  of  the  manager  if  this  enter- 
prise in  the  Bowery  Theatre  failed. 

It  was  at  the  time  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  King  John  at 
Kcans  great    Shakespearian    revival    at    the the  Bowc,'-v- 
Princess's  in    London,  that,  profiting  in  the 
summer  season  by  the  closing  of  other  the- 
atres, John  Brougham  got  together  a  picked 
company,    embracing    Mme.    Ponisi,   Charles 
Fisher,  and  other  members  of  Wallack's  and 
Laura    Keene's.      King   John  was   carefully 
produced,  re-enforced  by  Mr.  E.  L.  Daven-  a  strong  com- 
port  as  King  John,   William   IVheatley,  of  the1''111 
Arch  Street,  Philadelphia,  as  Faulconbridge, 
Mrs.    E.    L.    Davenport   as    Constance,   and 

John 


Arthur's  leap. 


5-  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

John  Brougham  in  the  original  part  of  Leader 
of  the  Supernumeraries.  It  may  seem  a  singu- 
lar role  for  such  a  man  to  undertake,  but  he 
meant  in  every  detail  to  insure  success,  and 
it  is  needless  to  say,  while  he  personated  the 
head  of  one  army,  the  other  was  well  offi- 
cered ;  and  more  well-drilled,  earnest  troops 
were  never  seen  in  a  body  of  regular  soldiers. 
There  never  was  a  stage  where  the  possi- 
bilities were  greater,  being  so  deep  as  to  per- 
mit the  effect  of  the  army  marching  up  from 
a  valley  at  the  back,  and  the  height  of  the 
theatre  none  realized  more  fully  than  myself, 
when,  as  Arthur,  I  stood  upon  the  walls  and 
looked  down  into  the  sickening  space  before 
the  leap  he  is  supposed  to  make.  I  have 
often  jumped  a  distance  of  a  few  feet,  but 
even  then  there  is  a  jar,  as  I  found  when  I  did 
it  night  after  night,  although  there  is  always  a 
mattress  laid  to  "break  the  fall."  But  a 
leap,  such  as  the  one  I  speak  of  in  King 
John,  could  not  be  taken  unless  the  actor 
were  to  fulfil  Shakespeare's  intention  of  death 
to  the  one  taking  it.  As  Arthur  is  seen  on 
the  battlements,  he  is  heard  to  speak  the 
lines  :  — 

"  The  wall  is  high,  and  yet  will  I  leap  down, 
Good  ground,  be  pitiful  and  hurt  me  not  *  *  * 
As  good  to  die  and  go  as  die  and  stay." 

And 


John  Brougham.  jjj 

And  the  audience  sees  the  boy  apparently 
dash  himself  from  that  terrific  height  upon 
the  rock  below,  where  he  dies,  speaking  the 
words  :  — 

"  O  me,  my  uncle's  spirit  is  in  these  stones, 
Heaven  take  my  soul,    and  England  keep  my 
bones.'" 

But  a  "double"  was  used  for  the  fall,  a  The  use  of  a 
limp,  made-up  figure,  dressed  exactly  like double- 
•Arthur,  the  battlements  being  so  constructed 
that,  as  the  line  was  spoken,  "  As  good  to  die 
and  go  as  die  and  stay,"  I  ran,  as  if  to  take 
the  leap,  past  a  turreted  part  of  the  wall. 
Behind  that  turret  we  changed  places,  the 
"double"  was  cast  over  the  battlements  and 
disappeared  among  the  tangled  grass  beneath 
the  wall,  while  I  grasped  the  perpendicular 
rods,  also  behind  the  turret,  and  slid  down 
simultaneously  with  the  fall  of  the  "dummy." 
As  that  reached  the  underbrush  so  must  I. 
The  men,  whose  business  it  was,  caught  me  a 
few  feet  from  the  ground.  An  opening  was 
left  in  the  scene  which  admitted  of  my  being- 
rolled  through  it,  so,  as  the  "double"  disap- 
peared, I  took  my  place  behind  the  "  set 
piece "  under  the  wall  and  raised  my  head 
to  speak  the  last  two  lines.  All  this  seems 
very  complicated,   but  it    is    only  one  scene 

of 


54  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

a  risk  which     of  many  that  an  audience  looks  at  every  night 
required  cool-   without  realizing  its  difficulty  and  danger,  and 

ness  and  quick-  °  J  b      >         ^ 

ness.  this   fact    certainly  can    be    affirmed:  —  had 

there  been  any  hesitancy  on  my  part,  I  could 
.  never  have  "won  in"  with  that  "double," 
and  had  there  been  any  want  of  faithfulness 
on  the  part  of  the  good  fellow  who  caught 
me  on  that  "flying  drop,"  I  should  not  be 
here  to  tell  the  tale. 

This  production  of  one  of  Shakespeare's 
greatest  plays,  magnificently  acted,  failed  so- 
signally  as  to  leave  the  manager  with  a  nightly 
deficit,  necessitating  the  -withdrawal  of  King 
John  after  only  two  weeks. 

I  quote  the  following  to  show  what  may 
fail  and  what  may  succeed  with  the  fickle 
public.  The  manager,  utterly  discouraged, 
The  Pirates  of  called  a  rehearsal  of  the  Pirates  of  the  Mis- 
bSipp1'  sissippi.  No  one  had  ever  heard  of  such  a 
band,  and  a  more  motley  mass  was  never 
seen.  At  the  first  rehearsal  I  read  from  my 
part  in  one  place,  "Enter  —  Mad  —  Exit," 
which  meant  that  the  author  was  to  write  a 
mad  scene  to  enable  the  carpenters  to  prepare 
an  important  "set"  behind.  I  asked  for  the 
rest  of  my  part.  "  My  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Broitgliam,  "  it's  not  written  yet  ;  you  shall 
have  it  to-morrow."  To-morrow  the  same 
reply.  On  the  third  day  I  ventured  to  sug- 
gest. 


JoJin  Brougham.  $5 

gest,  "I  cannot  study  my  scene,  Mr.  Brougham  Left  to  write 
if  it  is  not  given  me  to-night."  "Of  course  mv  own  scene- 
not,  my  dear.  Well,  write  it  for  yourself, 
only  go  mad.  The  girl's  in  love  ;  you  know 
what  she'd  say  under  the  circumstances  better 
than  I  do,  but  go  mad  for  five  minutes  —  six, 
if  you  can  —  only  go  mad!"  Now,  as  a 
pleasant  way  of  turning  a  joke  this  was  all 
very  well ;  but  I  knew  it  was  really  a  fact 
that  I  was  expected  to  write  a  soliloquy  for 
myself,  and  being  in  those  days  especially 
given  to  the  long,  sweet  silences  Mr.  Henry 
James  says  are  characteristic  of  my  country- 
women, the  knowledge  that  I  must  talk  for 
five  minutes  was  positively  alarming,  and  bad 
as  the  language  of  the  part  had  seemed 
hitherto,  the  responsibility  of  setting  my  own 
words  down  made  it  now  appear  the  consum- 
mation of  literary  skill.  However,  I  did  my  Madness  imi- 
" possible"  to  adapt  what  I  heard  a  p0ortateti£romlife- 
lunatic  say  only  a  few  hours  before ;  her 
frenzied  manner,  her  convulsive  clutching  that 
I  had  shrunk  from,  her  piercing  shriek  that 
had  wrung  my  heart,  were  not  forgotten  in 
my  contribution  to  the  Pirates  of  the  Mis- 
sissippi, and  the  kindly  appreciation  be- 
stowed upon  "my  scene"  was,  as  I  felt,  all 
due  to  the  poor,  unconscious  example,  who 
died  a  raving  maniac  shortly  after. 

This 


$6  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Tom  and  jerry  This  piece  made  a  tremendous  hit,  as  well 
as  another  effort  in  the  same  style,  an  adapta- 
tion of  Tom  and  Jerry,  or  Life  in  London, 
called  Tom  and  Jerry  in  New  York.  It 
was  an  ingenious  thought  to  transfer  to  the 
streets  of  New  York  the  popular  English 
story  of  half  a  century  before,  and  to  intro- 
duce a  German  professor  (John  Brougham  s 
own  part)  whose  catch  phrase,  "  I  am  a 
gindred  zoul,"  became  the  by-word  of  the 
town ;  —  along  with  the  familiar  leather  gaiters 
of  Jerry  Hawthorn,  the  green  spectacles  of 
Logic,  the  hook  nose  of  Corinthian  Tom,  im- 
mortalized by  Cruikshank.  But,  withal,  the 
season  proved  a  loss  to  the  treasury,  and  a 
winding  up  of  affairs  brought  about  many 
difficulties,  one  being  that  of  Mr.  Brougham  s 
withdrawal  and  a  consequent  disagreement  as 
to  the  payment  of  certain  salaries  already 
due.  Where  daily  income  only  covers  daily 
expenses,  it  is  indispensable,  especially  with 
sorrow  and  illness  at  home,  and  only  one 
left  to  shoulder  the  burden.  To  every  girl  the 
asking  for  money  is  a  reluctantly  performed 

Difficulty  about  ^g^^  jf  not  an  absolutely  painful  one.     It  be- 

my  salary. 

came  doubly  so  to  me,  when  I  was  first  told 
to  go  to  the  treasury,  then  sent  to  Mr. 
Brougham,  who,  with  sincere  regret,  but  de- 
cision, returned  me  to   the  treasury,  where, 

with 


John  Brougham.  57 

with  greater  decision  and  without  regret,  they 
told  me  to  go  back  to  Mr.  Brougham — but 
that  fairly  broke  me  down.     I  went  home  to 
find   even  greater  trouble  there  than   I   had 
feared.     All  this  delayed  me,  and  I  did  not 
reach  the  theatre  that  evening  until  the  last 
moment.     I   was   running  breathless  to   my 
dressing  room,  when  the  doorkeeper  held  me 
back,  saying,  I  was  to  be  refused  admittance.  Refused  admit- 
I  had  not  an  instant  to  spare,  the  callboy  was  t^re" 
making  his  usual  rounds  with'  the  well  known 
"Overture  in  —  everybody  ready  to  begin." 
I  insisted  upon  seeing  the  manager,  but  this 
had    been    anticipated    and    was    denied.     I 
could  hear  the  orchestra  preparing  their  in- 
struments.    Every    moment    was   vital,    and 
yet  I  stood  dazed  and  stupefied,  not  believ- 
ing my  senses.     The  man  was  soft  spoken  in 
the  discharge  of  his  duty,  but  every  word  was 
a   stab,  and    I    remained,    listening,  without 
the  ability  to  move  until  I  heard  the  overture 
acually  begin  and  the  boy  call  the  characters 
for  the  first  scene.     It  was  really  true,  then  ; 
some  one  else  had  replaced  me,  and  with  the 
last  notes  of   Bellini  sounding  in  my  ear  I 
turned  to  go  home.     As  sometimes  happens, 
"  some  cold  mannered  friend  may  often  do  us 
the  truest  service."     There  I  found  such  an 

acquaintance 


5S 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Suit  against 
Mi.  Broug- 
ham's mana- 
ger. 


acquaintance.  Astonished  at  my  appearance, 
he  knew  something  must  be  wrong,  so  the 
key  of  sympathy  unlocked  the  floodgates,  and 
left  me  without  restraint.  I  told  all  I  knew. 
He  returned  to  the  theatre  to  demand  an  ex- 
planation. The  fact  was  elicited  that  it  was 
taken  for  granted  I  was  remaining  away  until 
the  last  moment,  to  enforce  payment  of  my  sal- 
ary ;  therefore,  not  to  be  at  my  mercy,  they  re- 
fused me  justice.  Before  I  knew  it,  the  case 
was  in  the  hands  of  a  lawyer,  and  a  suit 
against  the  manager  was  the  result.  The 
call  for  my  testimony  in  court,  the  publicity, 
the  anxiety,  and  then  the  delay  from  week  to 
week  were  so  painful  that  I  never  desire 
another.  Although  I  won  my  first  case,  I 
won  it  by  the  evidence  of  my  opponent, 
strangely  enough,  and  I  cite  the  little  circum- 
stance to  Mr.  Brougham  s  honor.  The  man- 
ager who  denied  me  entrance  maintained  I 
had  forfeited  my  engagement  by  not  being  at 
the  theatre  in  time,  which  was  his  only  point, 
and  John  Brougham  was  put  upon  the  stand 
for  the  defence.  t0  corroborate  his  testimony.  The  witness 
was  serious,  unlike  himself,  and  bore  his  cross- 
questioning  with  a  rueful  expression  and 
made  equivocal  replies,  until  finally  the  inquiry 
was  definitely  and  testily  put :     "  Do  you  not 

recognize 


John  Broug- 
ham a  witness 


JoJui  Brougham.  fjg 

recognize  it  as  a  fact  that  ten  minutes  would 
be  an  impossible  time  for  a  lady  to  dress  for 
the    part?"     "No,"    said    John     Brougham,  He  testifies  for 
breaking    out    like    the    sun    from    behind    a  iepa 
cloud,   "  No,  it  entirely  depends  on  the  celer- 
ity of  her  movements,"  and  that  clinched  it ! 
My  last  memory  of  Mr.  BrougJiam  was  a 
pleasant  meeting  one  night  in  Louisville.     I  Meeting  in 
was  at  one  theatre,    he  at    another,  and  we Louisvllle- 
both  met  in  the  hotel  and  sat  clown  in  the  din- 
ing  room   together   after   the    play.     It  was 
very  comfortable  in  a  strange  place  to  find  a 
friend  from  the  days  of  auld  lang  syne,  and  I 
told  him  so.     He  said  he,  too,  was  homesick, 
aud  longing  to  get  back  to  New  York.     The 
word  home  was  enough  to  bring  up  all  sorts 
of  tender  memories  to  us  both,  and  a  child's 
face   especially  came  before    me,  as  I  said  : 
"  Yes,  but  you  are  not  a  thousand  miles  away 
from  your  little  boy."     He  was  looking  old 
and  worn  as  he  said,  with  real  feeling,   "  No,  Mr.  Broug- 
but    I    do    want    to  get  home  to   my  dogs."h.am'shome- 
John  BrougJiam  had  more  than  his  dogs  to  dogs. 
love    him  ;    but    in  his   declining   years    and 
altered  circumstances,  what  a  tragic  sentence 
from  the  popular  idol  of  New  York  !     In  this 
life  we  daily  see  a  verification  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  old  Greek  who  admonished  his  son  to 

make 


a  prolific 
author, 


60  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

make  friends,  and  when  the  lad  told  his 
father  in  an  ecstasy  that  he  had  two  hundred, 
the  sage  philosopher  replied :  "  You  are 
fortunate,  my  son  ;  after  all  these  years  I 
have  but  one  and  a  half :  that  is,  one  who 
would  stand  by  me  to  the  end,  at  any  sac- 
rifice and  another  who  would,  provided  it 
did  not  affect  his  own  interest." 
Mr.  Brougham  JoJin  Brougham  as  an  author  would  be  more 
famous  if  his  facile  fecundity  had  been  less.  In 
recalling  the  mass  of  trifles  which  he  clashed  off 
for  the  needs  of  the  hour,  we  forget  that  he  has 
written  a  considerable  portion  of  the  original 
acting  drama  of  the  day  in  comedy,  melo- 
drama and  burlesque,  continually  in  use,  and 
likely  to  be  drawn  upon  for  the  amusement  of 
the  public  for  generations,  as  the  cycles  of 
taste  change  and  recur.  Of  course,  the  Irish 
humor  of  the  man,  racy,  brilliant,  inexhausti- 
ble, but  ever  sweet  and  pure,  was  his 
abounding  gift.  Take  Pocahontas  for  ex- 
ample —  a  burlesque  which  ridicules  no  lofty 
idyl,  whose  music  profanes  no  elevated  theme 
yet  is  as  purely  funny  as  anything  in  the 
modern  style,  where  every  dear-bought  laugh 
is  at  the  expense  of  some  shattered  idol,  for- 
ever debased  by  a  ludicrous  association.  The 
contrast,   which  is  needful  for  humor,   is  as 

easily 


yoJui  Brougham. 


61 


easily  obtained   by  the   blasphemy   of   ideal 
forms  in  literature  and  music  as  by  irrever- 
ence in  speech.     Here  was  a  master  of  merry  His  sound 
fancies  upon  the  simplest  themes,  the  creator  humor 
of  a  quantity  of  innocent  mirth.     What  a  rare 
and  real  benefactor  to  his  kind ! 


CHAPTER 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Laura  Keene  —  Agues  Robertson. 

Theatrical  companies,  like  other  large 
bodies  of  working  people,  are  not  exempt 
from  strikes  now  and  again,  and  one  of  these 
occurred  under  the  management  of  Mr.  Wil- 

Mr.  Burton's  j/^&^  &»*     &     BllHOU     of      the 

chainbers  mF^  J  Chambers    Street  Thea- 

Street  Theatre.  Bk.   ^Vft  '       iT  it-      i  1  -,i 

tre,  New  York,  who,  with 
a  constant  change  of  bill 
the    established    custom 
elsewhere,  kept  his  audi- 
ence     convulsed       with 
laughter    two    nights    in 
the  week   for   three    years    with    Aminadab 
Sleek    and  Toodles.      If  ever  a   man    could 
believe     himself    independent,    Mr.    Burton 
might  ;  for  he  was  the  bright  particular  star 
of  his  own  little  firmament,  and  his  satellites 
were  not  only  brilliant,  but  unusually  numer- 
ous.     Beside  a   comedy  company,    including 
the  handsome    George  Jordan,    there    was   a 

complete 


^m 


Laura  Keene.  6 J 

complete  little  operatic  troupe,  charming 
Rosalie  Durand,  the  prima  donna.  But  an 
act  of  injustice  visited  upon  one  created  a 
spirit  of  discontent  which  spread  like  con- 
tagion, and  in  one  week  Mr.  Barton  found 
himself  deprived  of  nine  of  his  principal  sup- 
porters —  a  very  serious  loss  even  with  such 
a  star. 

Miss  Laura  Keene,  who  was  on  the  eve  of 

Miss    Keene 

opening  the  Winter  Garden,  thought  to  profit  opens  the 
by   Mr.  Burtons  error,  but   on  the  opening  WlIlterGarden- 
night,  when  the  curtain  rose  on  the  fair  man- 
ager   with    her   enormous    band   all    massed 
around  her,  it  needed  no  very  ancient  mariner 
to  prophesy  that  such  a  crew  must  sink  the 
ship.     There   were   at    least    three   ordinary 
companies,  and  the  weeding  out,  which  must 
have  been  a  painful  and  difficult  task,  soon 
began.     Those    of    the    rival    establishment 
were  retained    however,   Mr.   George  Jordan 
especially  being  an    invaluable  attraction  to  A  remarkable 
Miss  Keene  s  patrons.       Some  of   the   finest  comPany- 
actors    were    always  found    in    her    theatre. 
Think    of    Joseph   Jefferson,    E.    A.    Sothem 
and    Couldock    in    one    cast,   its  minor  parts 
filled    as   well.     That  the  jewel  is  enhanced 
by  the  setting,  none  knew  better  than  she. 
Some    of    the    best    plays    were    originalh'    , 

1        '  o  j    t\]c  original 

brought  out  by  her.     Dion  Boacicanlf  s   Col- Coiieen  Bawn. 

leen 


64 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Two  beautiful 
women. 


Agnes  Robert- 
son. 


leen  Bawn  for  one,  with  Agnes  Robertson 
"the  pretty  girl"  and  Laura  Kceue  the 
"girl  with  the  golden  hair."  The  parts  were 
made  for  them ;  it  would  not  be  strange 
if  they  never  fitted  any  others  equally  well. 
Of  course,  it  was  to  Miss  Keene's  interest  to 
make  her  theatre  a  success,  but  she  was  suffi- 
ciently individual  in  herself  to  be  fearless  of 
rivalry,  and  a  small  or  petty  thought  of 
jealousy  never  occurred  to  her;  besides, 
while  these  two  women  were  alike  charming, 
they  were  at  the  same  time  unlike  enough  to 
be  foils.  The  one  with  her  sunny  auburn 
hair  and  magnificent  eyes,  which  she  opened 
wide  upon  you,  but  never  rolled  and  ogled 
with,  her  sloping  shoulders  and  slight 
form,  dressed  so  exquisitely  with  Frou-Frou 
airy  trifles,  only  suggesting  a  thistledown 
transformed  into  a  woman ;  and  the  other, 
of  rounded,  "  vase-like  " 
beauty,  in  the  simple  pea- 
sant garb  that  needed  no 
adornment,  for  this  was 
a  time  when  curves,  not 
angles  were  the  fashion, 
and  she  was  perfect. 
Agnes  Robertson!  Is 
there  not  a  charm  in  that  name  which  makes 
many  an  old  heart   young  ?     She    played  in 

the 


. 


Agues  Robertson.  6$ 

the  United  States  for  the  first  time  at  the 
Boston  Museum.  Queues  were  not  formed 
in  those  days  by  speculators  but  the  actual 
people,  and  it  seemed  all  the  people  of  Boston, 
jostled  and  squeezed  each  other,  week  after 
week,  to  enjoy  any  seating  or  standing  oppor- 
tunity to  see  and  hear  that  dewy,  fresh  and 
winsome  little  creature.  Was  there  ever 
such  a  Maid  with  the  Milking  Pail,  such  a 
Cat  turned  to  a  Woman,  such  a  Young  Miss  Robert- 
Actress,   Bob    Nettles,    Andy  Blake?     How son's Peculiar 

J  parts. 

many  will  recall  the  thrill  with  which 
they  heard  the  first  notes  of  her  bird-like 
voice  before  she  tripped  upon  the  scene ! 
Have  those  (then)  young  Harvard  men  for- 
gotten, who  pawned  their  clothes  for  money 
to  buy  tickets  for  the  "Fairy  Star,"  until  a 
set  had  only  one  available  suit,  to  be  used  in 
rotation,  while  the  rest  stayed  in  bed  until 
remittances  came  from  home  ?  She  was 
petted  in  society,  for  women  were  fascinated 
by  her  perhaps  even  more  than  men,  and 
equally  in  drawing-rooms  and  among  the 
garish  adjuncts  of  the  stage  there  was  a 
bright  purity  about  her,  like  the  atmosphere 
of  her  own  Scotland.  Opposite  the  Museum 
in  those  days    was  Mrs.  Mayers  ice   cream  .  ,       .    „. 

J  y  A  hunt  by  Miss 

saloon,    a  favorite  meeting  place  for  parties  Robertson's  ad- 
going  to  the  play.     A  mob  of   girls   would '"' 

cluster 


Run  down. 


66  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

cluster  about  the  sidewalk  to  await  the  exit 
of   Agnes  Robertson,  and    the   more  favored 
customers  of  the  shop  gathered  at  its  win- 
dows, which  Mrs.  Mayer  would  empty  of  her 
showcase    to    make    room    for   the    curious 
throng.     This  was  a  trying  ordeal  for  the  shy 
and  sensitive  child,  who  had  to  make  her  flit- 
ting to  the  Tremont  House  under  the  search- 
ing and  curious  gaze  of  these  indiscreet  ad- 
mirers.    Often,   under    good    Mrs.    Vincents 
care,  and  beneath  her  ample  cloak,  the  little 
form  was  smuggled  past  the  eager  eyes  ;  but 
one   afternoon,    careless    or    forgetful,  "the 
young    actress "    came    down    the    staircase 
alone    right    into    the    waiting    crowd    and 
frightened,    she   took  to  her  heels    and    ran 
through  Tremont  street  !     The  girls  followed. 
It  was  a  real  chase.     The  timid  hare  doubled 
into  Tremont  place,  followed  by  the  hounds, 
into  the  ladies'  entrance,  into  the  parlor,  still 
pursued,  up  to  her  own  bedroom,  where  she 
jumped  upon  the  bed  !     The  room  filled  in  a 
minute.     With  the  last  instinct  of  the  quarry, 
she  dashed  out  once  more.     Taking  advan- 
tage of  her  knowledge  of  corridors  and  back 
stairs,    she    succeeded    in    shaking    off    the 
pursuit,  and,  locking  herself  into  her  maid's 
room  at  the  top  of  the  house,  was  at  last  free  ! 
I  know  no  measure  of  criticism  for  her  charm 

in 


Agues  Robertson.  6j 

in  those  days,  and  it  may  be  pleasant  to  those 
who  admired  her  then,  if  I  tell  them  that 
Boston  still  remains  "a  sentiment"  to  Agnes 
Robertson. 

Laura  Kecne  was  an  exponent  of  the  ele-  Laura  Keene's 
gant  "  modern  comedy,"  in  which  her  delicate  st>'le  0l  actins- 
taste  and  feminine  charm  controlled  the  im- 
agination. It  was  not  photography  nor 
labored  art,  but  a  water  color  sketch,  full  of 
light  and  grace.  A  pity  it  is  that,  together 
with  the  high  comedy  of  a  former  generation, 
it  seems  completely  to  have  passed  away,  for 
such  performances  are  the  icTeal  amusement 
of  a  gay  hour  for  men  and  women  of  the 
world,  who  do  not  delight  to  find  themselves 
and  their  doings  reproduced  on  the  stage,  nor 
to  be  betrayed  into  vehement  and  unpleasant 
emotion. 

As  we  have  seen  in  other  cases,  however, 
managers  who  succeed  must  sometimes  set 
aside  their  own  preference,  and,  if  them- 
selves actors,  their  own  special  gifts,  and  fol- 
low where  the  public  leads:  so  Laura  Keene  Laura  Keene's 
was  driven  in  dark  days  to  a  variety  show, v;metv  show- 
the  first  of  its  kind,  perhaps,  and  in  a  play 
called  Variety,  without  plot  or  plan  or 
unity,  she,  in  her  own  person  and  in  "  citi- 
zen's "  dress,  appeared  in  her  own  situation 
as  a  perplexed  manager,  puzzled  what  to  do 

to 


68  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

to  regain  the  public  favor.  Fairy  help  pro- 
duced "  samples "  for  approval,  and  these 
specimens  were  the  piece.  There  were  songs 
in  character,  a  burlesque  of  Lady  Mac- 
beth, tableaux,  dances  and,  finally,  a  basket 
horse,  and  a  miniature  circus.  One  of 
the  loveliest  pictures  I  ever  saw  on  any 
stage  was  The  Rose,  in  which,  through 
a  large  cloud  aperture,  appeared  the  great 
Jacqueminot,  each  petal  a  little  pink  clad 
child,  fold  within  fold,  down  to  a  sweet  cherub 
face,  which  was  the  heart  of  the  living  flower. 
But  there  is  no  greater  game  of  chance 
than  a  theatrical  venture,  and  this  was  Miss 
Keene  s    experience.     Expensively    mounted 

Losses  in  man- 
agement, pieces   met   financially   with  meagre    results, 

the  truth    being    that    theatre-going    people 

were  fewer  then  than  now,  and  a  play  that 

runs  six    months    would    last    then    but    six 

weeks,     even     this     being     an     uncommon 

success.     So  Laura  Kccuc,  like  every  other 

wearer  of  a  crown,  found  it  no  easy  task  to 

Caresofrcspon.  smile  while  the  heart  ached  with  care.     We 

sibie  position,    see  it  in  every  condition  of  life.     The  leaders 

of    society,    with    all    the    alleviations    that 

money   and    position    can    give,    have    all    a 

special    strain    that     responsibility    of    any 

nature  must   of   necessity    bring.     Only  the 

very  few  well  placed,  unambitious,  mercifully 

sheltered 


Laura  Keene.  6g 

sheltered  lives  are  free  from  it,  and  the  cruel 
tension  to  keep  up  to  concert  pitch,  together 
with  the  intense  pressure  in  time  of  doubt 
and  failure  in  catering  for  the  public,  must 
be  felt  to  be  known.  It  seems  as  if  I  rather 
anticipated  my  share  in  those  early  days  with 
Laura  Keene.  All  women,  I  suppose,  in  girl- My  adoration 
hood  adore  some  other  woman.     I  adored  her  ;  °r 

'  Keene. 

I  found  an  excuse  for  every  fault  ;  I  waited 
her  bidding,  ran  at  her  call,  and  meekly 
accepted  the  scoldings  I  got  for  my  pains : 
and  these  were  not  a  few,  since  she  took  ad- 
vantage of  my  devotion,  and  when  anything 
in  others  deserved  a  rebuke,  she  invariably 
administered  that  rebuke  to  me,  like  the  tutor 
who  punished  the  fag  when  the  prince  was 
naughty.  It  is  a  fact,  she  was  so  in  the  habit 
of  calling  me  to  account  for  others  to  take 
warning,  that  on  one  occasion,  when  her  com- 
plaint was  a  smell  of  "  tobacco,  tobacco  from 
a  pipe,"  Laura  Keene,  addressing  men  in 
general,  from  pure  force  of  habit  turned  in 
my  direction  and  riveted  her  eyes  upon  me 
with  such  severity  that  there  was  a  universal 
smile  at  my  expense. 

A  stranger  would  undoubtedly  have  credi- 
ted me  with  the  capital  offence  of  smoking 
that  pipe. 

On  another  occasion  my  fascinating  tyrant 

saw 


yo  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

a  female  saw  she  had  tried  even  my  spaniel  affection 

too  far,  and,  sending  for  me  to  her  own 
room,  where  I  went  with  red  and  swollen 
eyes,  her  greeting  was  as  follows  :  "  What 
are  you  crying  for,  you  little  fool  ?  I  didn't 
mean  you,  but  Mr.  Harold,"  but,  as  this  cold 
comfort  was  dispensed  with  a  downright 
shake,  it  somehow  did  not  have  the  effect  of 
healing  my  wounded  feelings,  so  I  turned  my 
back  upon  her  —  yes,  I  did  ;  with  a  very  large 
lump  in  my  throat  and  tears  streaming,  but  I 
did  turn  my  back  upon  her,  and  spent  a 
wretched  afternoon  in  consequence.  "  Sus- 
pense is  the  condition  of  the  spider,  but  most 
injurious  to  man."  It  surely  is  to  woman,  as 
I  can  testify.  Oh,  how  long  the  hours 
seemed !  She  would  surely  send  for  me,  as 
she  often  did,  to  help  find  a  pocket  handker- 
chief, or  search  for  a  lost  ring.  But  no  mes- 
senger came  !  I  grew,  as  I  flattered  my- 
self, quite  calm,  indifferent,  even  dignified, 
under  the  fancied  slight ;  until,  in  our  first 
scene  of  the  Rivals  that  night,  she  subju- 
gated   me    completely    with    her    penitence. 

stage  forgive-  For,  when  I  went  on  as  Julia,  the  reception 
of  Lydia  Languish  was  so  felicitous,  her 
kisses  so  loving,  her  introduced  line  of  ad- 
miration so  enthusiastic,  that,  as  she  led  me 
down  to  the  footlights,  there  was  a  round  of 

applause 


Dcss. 


Laura  Kecne.  J I 

applause  given,  and  the  next  day  a  lady,  who 
had  been  in  the  audience  remarked,  "  How 
fond  Miss  Kecne  is  of  you!"  Well,  I  never 
said  then  what  brought  that  special  fond- 
ness about.  Years  afterwards,  when  Miss  Miss  Keene's 
Keene  and   I  met  on  equal  ground,   we  had  ,con*dence  in 

>■  °  her  training. 

many  happy  hours  together,  and  in  one  of 
them  a  good  laugh  over  my  scapegoat  days  ; 
but  when  I  said,  perhaps  rather  too  feelingly, 
"  Oh,  you  did  treat  me  shamefully,"  the  little 
lady  instantly  recovered  her  ancient  attitude, 
as  she  earnestly  rejoined  :  "  Your  character 
needed  it.  You  would  not  be  what  you  are 
but  for  my  early  discipline.  It  was  all  good 
for  you."  Perhaps  it  was  !  At  any  rate,  my 
admiration  for  her  never  waned,  and  she  is 
one  of  my  pleasant  memories  to-day. 

The  resources  of  a  woman's  mind  concen- 
trated upon  a  crisis  certainly  invest  her  for 
the  moment  with  extraordinary  executive 
ability.  One  night,  when  Much  Ado  About 
Nothing  was  to  be  given,  it  was  found 
almost  at  the  last  moment  that  the  costumes 
were  not  ready. 

All    the  women  not  in   the  cast  were    in-  Miss  Keene 
stantly  pressed  into    service.     Under  Laura  meets  a  cnsis" 
Keenes   direction    the    unfinished    garments 
were  sewn  upon  the  wearers.     The  time  run- 
ning short,  the  distracted  manager,  who  had 

her 


J 2  Yesterdays  with  A  e tors. 

her  own  hands  full,  and  was  still  to  dress  for 
Beatrice,  called  the  lords  and  attendants  to 
stand   before  her,   and  sending  to  the  paint 
room  for  a  pot  and  brush,  finished  the  borders 
of  their  "jackets  and  trunks  "  in  black  paint  ! 
"  Now  keep  apart  !     Don't  sit  clown  !     Don't 
come  near  the  ladies  !  "  with  her  spasmodic, 
quick  speech  and  she  was  off  to  array  herself 
in  a  twinkling  for  the  dainty  lady  of  Messina  ! 
In  executive  ability  Miss   Keene   was  not 
alone    among    women.       Mrs.    John     Drew, 
director  of  the  Arch  Street  Theatre,  Phila- 
delphia, has  proved  herself  one  of  the  best  in 
this   country  or  any  other,   while  as  comedi 
enne,   she  has  no  peer.     Mrs.    Conway  held 
the  reins  of  government  in  Brooklyn  for  many 
Women  as  sue- Years-     At  one  time>  in  London,  Miss  Oliver 
cessfui  niana-    was  managing  one  theatre,  Miss  Swanborough 
another,  Mrs.  Batcman  a  third,  Mrs.  Bancroft 
{Marie     Wilton)  the  fashionable   "  Prince  of 
Wales."     Indeed,  their  name  is  legion,  and  I 
do  not  remember  any  case  where  they  have 
not  graced  the  office,  and  where  in  this  kind 
of  administrative  power  the  sex  in  any  way 
may  be  considered  deficient. 
An  unfortunate      The  "  Prince  of  Wales  "  brings  with  it  the 
remembrance  of  a  name  well  known  through- 
out the  English  speaking  world,  of  which  Mr. 
Henderson    told    me    the    following    story : 

When 


Laura  Kccuc.  /J 

When  he  was  manager  of  a  theatre  in  Liver- 
pool he  was  sitting*  one  clay  in  his  office  cast- 
ing about  for  a  stop  gap  —  something  it  must 
be  in  the  way  of  a  novelty  —  when  an  un- 
known, shabby,  but  well-bred  man  was  shown 
in,  who  begged  a  hearing  for  his  play  called 
Society.  It  was  read,  accepted,  pro- 
duced on  the  following  Monday,  and  made  a 
grand  success  !  "  This,  said  Mr.  Henderson,  Mr.  Robert. 
"  is  the  thing  for  Marie  Wilton.  She  wants  ason's  success- 
new  piece,  and  this  must  go  to  London." 

"  It  has  been  there,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
for  he  it  was.  "  I  took  it  to  Miss  Wilton.  I 
have  taken  it  everywhere,  only  to  meet  with 
rejection  for  two  whole  years,  until  I  am  re- 
duced to  my  last  shilling  and  boots  too  ragged 
to  walk  another  mile  !  " 

When  Peg  Woffington  offers  to  make  Man- 
ager Rich  read  poor  Triplet's  tragedies  he 
tells  her  it  is  "  useless  ;  they  have  been  re- 
fused." Charles  Reade,  who  knew  human 
nature  so  well,  makes  her  reply  :  "  Reading 
comes  after,  when  it  comes  at  all.  Do  you 
know  I  called  on  Mr.  Rich  fifteen  times  before 
I  could  even  see  him  ?"  But  the  merry  soul 
laughingly  continues :  "  I  have  made  him 
pay  a  hundred  pounds  for  each  of  these  little  Mr.  "Robertson 
visits    since."     And  so  with  the   young  un- ™J?* for *e 

J  "  Frincc  oi 

known.     Mr.  Henderson  wrote  a  note  to  Miss  wales." 

Wilton 


'jjj.  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Wilton  making  her  look  at  Society  through 
rose-colored  glasses,  and  many  a  hundred 
pounds  did  the  author  take  from  her  hands 
for  his  clever  works,  of  School,  Caste  and 
Ours,  year  after  year.  Miss  Wilton  made  a 
specialty  of  these  delicious  morceaux,  and 
Mr.  Robertson  wrote  to  order  for  the  "  Prince 
of  Wales  "  as  long  as  he  lived.  His  was  not  a 
very  long  life,  but  surely  a  satisfactory  one, 
for  after  the  discouragement  and  heart-weari- 
ness of  these  two  years  came  the  sun  of  hap- 
piness and  good  fortune  in  abundance. 
Hard  work  of        When  the  watchword  of  our  life  is  labor  — 

ii°VeSe  aCt°rS'  labor  of  brain  and  bocb/'  labor  tnat  occupies, 
as  mine  once  did  for  seven  consecutive 
months,  twenty  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four, 
there  is  scant  opportunity  or  disposition  for 
diversion.  Again,  some  exceptional  natures 
are  rendered  more  sensitive  by  the  nervous 
strain  of  reproducing  tragic  and  painful  char- 
susceptibiiity  acterizations.  A  conscientious  endeavor  to 
caused  by  their  anaw  feelings,  that  they  may  be  the  better 

pursuit.  J  °    '  J  J 

able  to  portray,  leaves  them  ready  to  suffer 
acutely  in  their  own  proper  persons. 
a  merry  set.  The  order  of  the  Sock  and  Buskin  is,  how- 
ever, mainly  composed  of  people  so  happily 
constituted  that  they  can  invest  the  common- 
est circumstances  with  a  tinge  of  romance 
and  by  aid   of   their  own   odd  twisting  and 

mirthful 


Laura  Kccne.  75 

mirthful  spirit  can  find  a  merry  side  to  the 
most  gloomy  prospect  —  especially  with  the 
large  number  who  are  not  over-burdened 
with  labor.  So  actors  are,  on  the  whole,  a 
cheerful  race.  The  ability  to  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  lives  of  others  takes  them  out  of 
their  own,  and  develops  a  light-heartedness 
that  leaves  them  quick  to  profit  by  a  happy 
thought  and  always  ready  for  a  joke.  One 
night  when  we  were  about  leaving  Laura 
Keene  s  Theatre  a  peremptory  request  was 
sent  to  every  dressing  room  that  all  might  be 
left  in  good  order. 

Those  who  have  ever  been  behind  the  The  dlSorder 
scenes  of  private  theatricals  know  something  "behind  the 
of  the  untidy  remainders  that  eight  or  ten 
young  men  can  leave  about,  and  the  fact  that 
this  was  not  only  a  novel,  but,  as  it  was  de- 
livered, an  impertinent  demand,  caused  the 
whole  male  sex  to  resent  it.  A  rehearsal  had 
been  called  and  cancelled  for  the  next  day. 
Ordinarily  these  very  young  men  would  have 
revelled  in  their  freedom,  but  curiosity 
brought  a  sharp  attendance.  To  their  sur- 
prise, from  "the  end  unto  the  beginning" 
the  place  was  in  the  most  perfect  trim.  For 
some  weeks  they  had  complained  of  damp  and  transformation. 
cold  in  these  same  dressing  rooms  ;  warmth 
had  been  grudgingly  and  seldom    bestowed. 

To- 


Miss  Keene 


76  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

To-clay  every  fireplace  was  ablaze,  the  debris 
of  the  night  before  was  all  hidden  away,  and 
an  air  of  comfort  given  by  some  rugs  and  easy- 
chairs.  Behind  the  scenes  the  flats  were 
neatly  stacked,  and  an  effect  of  space  thereby 
obtained.  The  baize  on  the  stage  at  that  hour 
was  unusual,  the  green  room  shone  resplen- 
dent with  multiplied  mirrors,  the  door  ajar  of 
Miss  Keeiie  s  own  office  gave  forth  a  ruddy 
prepares  for  glow  and  an  odor  of  fresh  flowers,  and  she 
herself  greeted  them  with  an  added  dignity 
and  a  spasmodic  twitch  of  the  gray  glove,  as 
she  stood  robed  in  dove  color,  with  an  apple 
blossom  of  a  bonnet  on  her  head,  and,  in  a 
voice  that  always  had  a  tear  in  it,  requested 
the  "  actors  to  leave  the  building  before  eleven 
o'clock,  for  some  gentlemen  were  coming." 
Of  course  this  was  too  much  ! 

The    "gentlemen,"    as    it    afterwards   ap- 
peared, were  Dr.  Bellows,   who  was  at  that 

Dr.  Bellows  ex- 

pected.  time  writing  a  "  Defence  of  the  Stage,    and  a 

'  party  of  friends.  The  manageress  had  prom- 
ised to  show  them  over  her  model  theatre, 
and  she  sat  awaiting  them  in  the  elegant  sur- 
roundings of  her  own  apartment,  while  the 
"actors"  paid  a  scampering  visit  to  theirs, 
and  what  they  accomplished  in  that  few  min- 
utes who  could  repeat  ?  The  grotesque  char- 
coal sketches  on  the  walls,  that  grew  life-size 

beneath 


Laura  Kcenc.  JJ 

beneath  one  artist's  fingers,  the  wig  block 
ornamented  by  another  with  the  most  rakish 
of  wigs  and  dissipated  whiskers,  the  gen- 
eral chaos  of  old  shoes,  brushes  and  paint 
boxes  that  were  strewn  around  the  tables, 
and,  lastly,  the  incursion  made  into  the 
"  property  room  "  for  sticks  and  poles  for  the 
questionable  articles  of  wearing  apparel  made 
up  into  scarecrows,  and  left  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  as  if  bowing  to  the  gen- 
tlemanly party  ! 

Fortunately  for  "The  Defence  of  the  The  Defence  of 
Stage,"  the  cicerone  was  too  alert,  and  Dr. the  Stase 
Bellows  was  saved  the  practical  jokers'  wel- 
come and  the  shock  it  might  have  proved. 
But  he  doubtless  marvelled  somewhat  at  Miss 
Keenes  mysterious  and  sudden  closing  of 
that  door,  and  the  confusion  and  rapidity  with 
which  she  turned  her  guests  "face  about," 
and  bent  her  steps  in  another  direction. 

Like  many  another  Englishwoman,  Laura,,     v 

J  &  Miss  Keene  in 

Kccne  was  seen  at  her  best  in  her  own  home,  private. 
where  she  was  a  charming  hostess,  without  a 
touch  of  affectation.  Bubbling  with  delight- 
ful conversation,  she  yet  had  a  rare  and 
attractive  reserve  which  stimulated  the  fancy, 
and  was  never  broken  with  her  most  intimate 
friends.  A  woman's  life,  if  not  led  in  shel- 
tered places,  must  lose  some  of  its  finer  fibres ; 

or 


/8  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

or  they  must  protect  themselves  by  deep, 
shrinking  sensitiveness  and  a  veil  of  reticence. 
She  had  a  frail  physical  constitution,  which 
made  the  hard  life  of  an  actress  a  specially 
severe  one  to  her,  and  her  delicate  tempera- 
ment brought  its  usual  penalty  of  a  great 
capability  for  suffering.  She  had  much  pain, 
her  life  had  many  struggles  and  failures  ;  and, 
though  she  passed  away  in  her  prime,  those 
who  loved  her  and  mourned  her,  felt  their 
sorrow  alleviated  in  knowing  she  was  at 
rest.  The  public  missed  a  little  —  but 
mourned  not,  as  is  its  wont  —  a  name  and 
presence  that  were  potent  spells  for  many 
years,  and  the  mimic  triumphs  of  the  comedi- 
enne passed  into  speedy  oblivion.  She  died 
in  the  comfortable  faith  of  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic church. 
Theassassina-       One  lurid  gleam  fell  on  the  name  of  Laura 

uonof  ur.-Lin- j£cene  ^_0  preserve  it  from  absolute  forgetful- 
coin.  l  ,  ° 

ness,  out  of  the  stormiest  moment  of  Ameri- 
can history.  She  stood  upon  the  stage, 
beneath  the  box  where  the  tragedy  of  Abraham 
Lincoln  s  assassination  was  enacted  that  Good 
Friday  night  of  1865,  and  her  robes  were 
brushed  by  John  Wilkes  Booth  as  he  rushed 
away  for  his  dismal  flight.  She  never  made, 
or  could  bear  to  hear,  the  slightest  allusion  to 
that  moment,  and  the  horror  and  shock  of  it 
shortened  her  days.  chapter 


CHAPTER     V. 


E.  A.   Sothern. 


The  name  of  Sothem  will  long  be  pleas-  The  modem 
antly  remembered,  not  for  his  Dundreary Shendan- 
only  —  a  delightful  mimicry  of  the  young 
lordling  of  the  period  — but  for  the  jokes  he 
wrote  and  wrought,  which  will  be  told  in 
many  a  year  to  come  of  the  Sheridan  of  our 
day.  If  a  man  may  be  known  by  his  friends, 
Mr.  Sothern  was  of  a  rare  type,  for  his  were  of 
the  best  and  warmest,  and  most  loyal.  While, 
on  the  one  hand,  he  was  at  home  with  dis- 
tinguished people,  who  sought  and  flattered 
him,  after  his  success  in  England  ;  he  would, 
on  the  other,  adapt  himself  most  graciously 
and  sympathetically  to  those  who  never  heard 
of  "Burke's  Peerage."  An  apt  illustration 
that  "manners  are  not  idle." 

There  never  was  a  character  without  flaw,  Mr.  sothem's 
therefore  I  do  not  claim  this  perfection  forac 
Mr.  Sothern ;  but  since  the  bad  is  generally 

aggressive, 


amiable  char- 


rivets. 


80  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

aggressive,  speaks  for  itself  and  is  acknowl- 
edged readily  enough  —  for  "a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  will  blacken  a  man's  reputation  "  — 
let  us  speak  of  what  good  comes  to  the  sur- 
face, and  even  go  so  far  as  to  search  for  it, 
once  in  a  while,  —  since  some  of  the  fairest 
flowers  blossom  under  the  snow.  Mr.  Sothern 
had  the  most  obvious  and  pleasant  virtues. 
His  sound,  sweet  charity  was  known  but  to 
his  intimates,  and  could  only  have  endured  to 
the  end  through  a  good  use  of  the  lesson  of 
life's  follies  and  failures. 
a  lesson  from  I  shall  always  thank  a  mender  of  broken 
china  for  teaching  me  a  moral,  which  I  re- 
peat, though  commonplace  enough  except  in 
its  form.  I  saw  a  cup  that  I  wanted  on  his 
counter  marked  "three  dollars."  "But,"  I 
said,  "anew  one  is  only  two  dollars."  "I 
know  it,"  replied  the  philosopher,  "but  there 
are  one  dollar  and  a  half  worth  of  rivets 
in  that.  It'll  never  break  in  those  same 
places  again !  "  I  did  not  buy  the  cup,  but 
I  benefited  by  the  lesson,  and  often  hope- 
fully dwell  on  the  blessing  recovered  falls 
may  be  to  character ;  not  only  safeguards 
against  worse,  but  because,  though  broken  in 
many  places,  we  have  but  to  stand  "  erect  on 
our  rivets"  —  in  other  words,  profit  by  ex- 
perience—  and  we  need  never  fear  weakness 
in  the  same  spot  again  !  Twenty- 


E.  A.   So  them.  8 I 

Twenty-eight  years  ago  Mr.  Sothern  was  in- 
troduced to  me  by  one  now  dead,  whose  affec- 
tion for  his  friend  impressed  me,  for  I  knew 
it  was  founded  on  no  youthful  ardor  nor  blind 
enthusiasm,  but  mature  respect  and  esteem. 
To-day  I  do  not  need  to  go  out  of  Boston  to 
find  real,  true  friends  who  knew  him  for  what 
he  was,  and  loved  him  accordingly.  He  was 
a  man  of  gentle  blood,  innate  refinement  and 
infinite  tact,  or  his  name  would  not  have  been 
a  household  word  in  the  homes  to  which  I 
can  point,  nor  his  memory  treasured  in  the 
hearts  of  men,  women  and  children  alike. 
Mr.   Sothcm  was  by  his  father  intended  for  „,   „   , 

Jm  .  Mr.  Sothern 

the  medical  profession,  but,  proving  rather  a  as  a  medieai 
refractory  pupil,  he  was  at  last  joyfully  ex-student' 
pelled  by  the  faculty  for  his  first  practical 
joke,  which  was  this.  He  had  been  assigned 
a  study  in  the  dissecting  room,  and,  left  alone 
to  pursue  it.  Instead  of  applying  the  knife, 
from  which  he  shrunk,  together  with  its 
sanguinary  tones,  he  resorted  to  his  insepar- 
able palette,  and  when  the  professors  returned 
they  found  "  the  subject  "  painted  green  from 
head  to  foot.  For  such  a  turbulent  spirit,  it 
is  needless  to  say,  the  expulsion  was  not  a 
sorry  one. 

Having  married   the    daughter  of   a  dean, 
it  was  naturally  expected  of  young  Sothern 

that 


82  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

that    he     would     settle     clown.       In     order 

to  do  this,  he  shocked  his  family  by  going  on 

charks  Kean    tne  staSe>  where  CJicirles  Kcau  happened  to 

sees  promise  in  see  him,  and  spoke  of  him  as  having  promise. 

An  agent  in   London  had  orders    from    an 

American  manager,  who  wanted  people.    The 

Englishman  wanted  a  situation  ;  he  might  be 

good  enough ;    who    knew  ?     So    the   young 

couple  set  sail.     A  very  cold  shoulder  having 

been  given  them  by  their  relations,  they  left 

Mr.  sothem      their  name  behind  them,  and  "Mr.  Stewart" 

appears  in  Bos- appeared  in  Boston,  under  the  management 

ton  as  Mr. 

Stewart.  of  Mr.  Leonard,  as  Dr.  Pangloss.     With   the 

appearance  of  a  lad  of  seventeen,  exuberant 
with  animation,  full  of  vigor,  brimming  over 
with  fun,  such  a  "  push-along,"  "  keep-moving" 
Dr.  Pangloss  never  was  seen  by  the  critical 
audience  of  our  Athens.  Nevertheless,  the 
lad  was  clever,  and  professional  success  was 
only  a  question  of  time.  A  generous  and  in- 
dulgent manager  was  most  kind  in  helping 
him  to  bridge  time  over.  Not  only  was  Mr. 
Leonard  himself  interested,  but  his  wife,  who 

.,    TT.  went  to  her  friend,  Mrs.   Vincent  for  assist- 

Mrs.  Vincent 

befriends  Mr.  ance.  These  "  innocents  abroad  "  were  mere 
children.  Some  one  must  take  them  in  where 
they  would  be  well  cared  for.  She  was 
that  one.  Babes  in  the  wood,  Mrs.  Vincent 
must  be  the  cock  robin,  and  bring  them  food 

and 


anil  Mrs.  Soth- 
em. 


E.  A.   Sot  hem.  8$ 

and  cover  them  with  leaves !  Where  Mrs. 
Vincent  is  known,  it  is  superfluous  to  add  that 
she  characteristically  yielded,  and,  though  the 
good  protectress  does  laugh  as  she  tells  the 
story  of  her  "lively  babies,"  there  is  a  vein  of 
retrospective  terror  as  she  describes  "  their 
nearly  being  the  death  of  me." 

Spiritual  manifestations  were  a  new  interest 
then.     Mrs.    Vincent  took  her  guests  to  see ..    „ 

°  Mr.  Sothernas 

the  "Rappers,"  and  they  took  their 'cue  from  a  medium. 

what   they   saw  and  .heard   to  introduce  the 

most    surprising    phenomena   into  her  quiet 

home.     If  she  went  early  to  bed,  it  was  only 

to  be  startled  out  of  it  by  the  ringing  of  every 

bell  in  the  house.     To  be  sure,  she  was  petted 

and  fondled  when  they  got  hold  of  her,  but 

as  she  sat  with  them  for  the  next  hour  in  the 

hitherto  fancied  security  of  her  own  parlor,  it 

was  to  be  agonized  by  seeing  chairs  and  tables 

walking  about  the  room  —  at  the  bidding  of 

the   so-called   "spirits."      Not    content    with 

the  furniture,  these  same  invisibles  laid  cold  ,r    ,,. 

Mrs.  V  incent 

hands  upon  the  poor  victim  herself,  stabbed,  cmeiiy handled 
pricked  and  pinched,  until  visible  proof  was  3  spi" 
left  in  black  and  blue  for  clays  to  come.  Once 
she  tried  to  retaliate,  and  really  mystified  her 
bewildered  inmates,  who  for  a  moment  half 
believed  themselves  that  real  spirits  beyond 
their  quelling  had  come    among    their    own 

(which 


84  Yesterdays  zvit/t  Actors. 

(which  were  only  of  the  animal  kind)  for  sud- 
denly J.  A.  Smith  ("  Smithy"}  who  was  one 
of  the  circle    round    the 
table,  cried  out  :  "  There 
is  a  hand  upon  me,"  and 
as    t/uy  had  no  hand  in 
this,   what  was  it  ?     No- 
body suspected  the  sim- 
ple-hearted hostess,  until 
she    tried    it    again,  and 
Mr.   Smitli  caught    her  in  the   act,  and  her 
hand  on  his.     But  so  deeply  had  the  delusion 
wrought  that  the  good  fellow    could  not  be 
Mr.  j.  a.         shaken.     "Of  course  it  was  you  this  time; 
Smith's  faith  in  there  is  no  mistaking  a  human  touch.      It  was 

the  manifesta- 

tions.  as  different  from  the  last  as  darkness  from 

light.  That  was  a  marble  hand  —  clammy, 
cold,  with  a  grasp  like  iron."  Withal  there 
was  a  certain  discomfort  to  Mrs.  Vincent 
in  all  this,  for,  in  spite  of  her  one  inno- 
cent attempt,  there  was  something  uncanny 
about  her  guests,  who  pretended  immense 
horror  and  astonishment.  The  crisis  was 
reached  when,  one  day,  Mrs.  Stewart  was  going 
out  with  her  friend  in  the  rain,  an  umbrella  in 
her  hand.  It  is  better  to  give  it  in  Mrs. 
Vincent* s  own  words  :  "  Whatever  happened 
to  that  umbrella  I  never  can  say,  but  just  as 
we   got  to   the  front    door,  and   she    had    it 

already 


E.  A.   Sot  hem.  85 

already    to     open,    up    it    went    and    disap- 
peared !  " 

In  the  days  I  speak  of  promotion  was  not  a-rheschooisof 
matter    of    purchase    in   the  theatres.      The  actins in  thea" 

1  tres. 

reign  of  society-beauties  on  the  stage  had 
not  begun.  The  standard  of  excellence  in 
morals  and  manners  was  very  much  more 
lofty  than  it  is  now,  and  consequently  every- 
thing was  on  a  better  basis.  There  were 
recognized  schools  where  "practice"  could 
be  secured,  and  the  earnest  worker  who  could 
get  into  Wallack's  under  the  old  master  was 
sure  to  rise.  There  we  find  Mr.  Stewart.  His 
first  step  of  real  importance  was  playing 
Armand  to  the  Camille  of  Miss  Matilda  Mr.  sothem  as 
Heron,  who  had  spent  months  in  Paris  in  herArm 
turn,  learning  to  act  the  play  by  seeing  Mile. 
DocJie  and  Fechter  night  after  night.  Dun- 
dreary was  Sothem,  and  Sothem  Dundreary 
afterward,  and  the  identity  could  never  be 
destroyed.  But  they  were  fortunate  who  saw 
him  perform  other  of  his  parts  before  that 
surprising  creation  bewildered  their  judg- 
ment. He  played  with  astonishing  delicacy 
and  feeling  in  Camille,  Suspense,  The 
Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man,  and  David 
Garrick.  The  natural  and  tender  pathos  of 
his  sentimental  roles  brought  tears  of  sym- 
pathy to  the  eyes  as  plentifully  as  when  we 

laughed 


86  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

laughed  till  we  cried,  at  his  utter,  inconse- 
quent drollery.  And  before  his  absorption 
into  that  monstrous  misfortune,  a  one-part 
reputation,  he  was  a  most  conscientious  and 
faithful  student  of  his  art.  Miss  Matilda 
Heron  was  so  delighted  with  Mr.  Sothenis 
Armand  that  she  engaged  him  to  go  on  a 
tour  with  her,  and  for  the  first  time  he  took 
The  American  his  own  name.  After  that  all  went  well.  He 
cousin.  steadily  rose  until  Laura  Keenes  production 

of  the  American  Cousin,  when  he  secured 
his  fortune  and  made  hers,  for  it  was  a  critical 
juncture;  business  bad  and  Tom  Taylors 's 
comedy  a  last  resort.  Nothing  was  really  ex- 
pected of  it  in  itself,  but  every  valuable  mem- 
ber of  the  company  was  in  the  "  cast,"  and 
Joseph  Jefferson  would  of  course  be  strong 
as  Asa  Trenchard.  It  is  one  thing  to  cast  a 
piece,  but  quite  another  matter  to  make  the 
„.  people   play   the  parts.     After   the    reading, 

Discontent  at      r       r  r      J  r  & 

the  cast  of  the    Mr.   Couldock  refused  Abel  Murcot,  Sothcrn 
sinmer  u"  followed  suit  with  Lord  Dundreary,  and  there 

began  a  universal  shaking  of  heads  that  spoke 
volumes  of  condemnation  !  Actors  are,  as  a 
rule,  bad  judges  of  plays,  and  it  is  a  recog- 
nized fact  that  neither  author  nor  critic  can  tell 
what  will  succeed  with  any  surety.  Lan- 
guage that  convulsed  the  company  at  rehear- 
sal will  not  win  a  smile  from   the  audience, 

and 


E.  A.   Sotkern.  87 

and  a  "  situation  "  that  may  be  nearly  cut 
out  proves  one  of  the  best  points  in  a  play. 
Notwithstanding  all  this,  the  human  species  is 
apt  to  run  in  droves,  and  Miss  Kccne  knew 
that,  once  give  a  disorganizing  element  lee- 
way, the  whole  company  would  be  more  or 
less  affected,  and  then  good  by  to  the  com- 
edy. The  cast  must  stand.  Not  only  was 
Mr.  Couldock  too  valuable  and  important  to 
be  out  of  the  performance,  while  Mr.  SotJiem 
was  growing  in  popularity  every  day,  but 
they  were  the  touchstones  for  general  harmony, 
and  Miss  Keene  cleverly  suggested  that  they  The  actors 
should  write  the  parts  up   and   do   what  they  aIlowed  t0 

.....  .  i-ii  ,    w"te  UP  *eir 

liked  to  improve  them,  to  which  they  agreed,  parts. 
SotJievii  s  scenes  were  principally  with  his 
wife,  who  played  Georgina,  and  this  enabled 
him  to  elaborate  them  "  at  his  own  sweet 
will."  In  fact,  it  was  not  known  at  rehearsal 
just  what  he  was  going  to  do,  and  the  letter 
from  "  Tham  "  astonished  everybody,  himself. 

J  J  Success. 

included.       The     American     Cousin  ran    to 
crowded  houses  for  six  months  ! 

With  such  a  card  in  hand,  the  game  seemed 
his  own,  and  he  naturally  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  London.      "  If  Lord  Dundreary  is  ap-  ^ord  D,,n; 

'  x      dreary  in  L,on- 

preciated  here,  what  will  he  be  there?"  said  don. 
the  hopeful  visionary.     But  experience  found 

the 


88  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

the  path  to   be  strewn  with  thorns,  and  Mr. 
Sothern  spoke  with  real  emotion  of  those  first 
weeks  which,    lengthened    with   anxiety  and 
bitter   disappointment,    seemed    years.     The 
Paperhouses.    custom  of  London  theatres  was   to   '"paper" 
them,    a  practice  not   unknown   in  America, 
but  there  a  generally  recognized  necessity  to 
insure  a  favorable  hearing.     This  method  was 
as  systematized  as  ever  the  "claque"  was  in 
Paris,    and    the    persons   having  any  sort  of 
"  claims  "  upon  the  theatre,  being  first  accus- 
Freepasssys-    tomed    to   receive   free  passes  as  an  appro- 
tem-  priate    consideration    in   their  relation    to  it, 

such  as  literary  people,  artists,  actors,  trades- 
men—  whoever  touched  the  profession  in  the 
most  tangential  manner  —  grew  to  regard 
these  favors  as  a  vested  right.  Indeed,  the 
favor  was  in  many  cases  done  to  the  man- 
ager, for  when  he  needed  to  fill  his  house,  he 
could  not  give  away  his  tickets  without  some 
apparent  reason ;  such  gifts  would  be  unused 
and  neglected,  whereas  these  channels  could 
be  employed  with  some  appearance  of  pro- 
priety.    But  when    real    triumph   came,  the 

The  free  list         r  J  ' 

snspeuded.        enormous  free  list  had  to  be  cut  down  or  sus- 
pended,   and    its    members    either    became 
malicious  enemies,  or    refused  on    the    next 
occasion  to  be  the  catspaw  of  a  shrewd  en- 
trepreneur, 


E.  A.   So  them.  89 

trepreneur,  who  knew  his  docile  public  ;  so 
ready  to  follow  an  apparent  success,  and  to 
believe  that  one  hundred  nights  in  the  capital 
proved  a  meritorious  performance.  The 
whole  system  of  metropolitan  successes  be- 
came an  advertising  scheme  for  real  money- 
making  in  the  provinces.  Actors  and  plays 
which  spontaneously  attract  real  audiences 
have  of  late  broken  through  the  necessity  of 
these  methods,  and  the  evils  of  the  free  list  of 
which  I  have  spoken,  and  the  fact  that  it  had 
come  to  include  large  numbers  of  those  who 
could  and  would  soon  learn  to  pay,  caused  the 
managers  to  combine  in  abolishing  the  abuses 
of  the  system.  Then,  however,  it  was  in  full 
force.     Mr.  Sothcrn  had  not  "papered"  the  Mr- Sothern's 

r    r  failure. 

house.     Mr.  Sothcrn  failed  ! 

On  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  actors  are 
hospitably  met  by  fellow-workers  behind  the 
scenes,  and  there  is  great  comfort  in  a 
friendly  smile  when  all  is  strange  and 
depressing,  but  you  will  not  get  it  in  London 
until  you  stand  in  the  good  graces  of  your 
audience.       There    is    a    general    prejudice  T  .      .   ,._ 

0  l       J  Innospitality 

against  foreign  invasion,  and  you  are  made  of  English 
very  keenly  to  feel  that  you  are  a  foreigner 
and     had     better     go     back     whence     you 
came,  though  you  may  even  be  of  English 

birth. 


go 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Mr   Ruck- 
stone's  confi- 
dence. 


A  London  hit. 


birth.  This  was  Mr.  Sotherns  experience, 
as  it  has  been  that  ot  others,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  ask  for  a  release  and  return  in  the 
next  ship  to  the  land  of  his  adoption.  But 
Mr.  Buckstone,  manager  of  the  Haymarket 
Theatre,  had  nothing 
ready  to  supplant  the 
American  Cousin,  be- 
sides which,  he  took  a 
hint  from  the  Dundreary 
family  occupying  the 
stalls,  who,  while  they 
"  never  saw  anything  like 
it,  yer  know,"  nevertheless  bore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  the  "  original."  So,  with  a 
confident  hope  in  a  prosperous  issue, 
although  the  loss,  by  the  way,  was  really 
serious,  Mr.  Buckstone  proposed  "papering" 
the  house  for  six  weeks,  and  the  result  was 
that  my  Lord  Dundreary  became  the  cynosure 
of  all  eyes,  and  the  American  Cousin  was 
played  to  crowded  and  enthusiastic  audiences 
for  four  hundred  and  seventy-seven  conse- 
cutive nights. 

Then  began  a  life  for  Mr.  Sothern  that  in 
his  wildest  fancies  he  never  imagined,  and  in 
his  sober  moments  he  would  probably  rather 
have    shrunk    from,    for,   however    delightful 

the 


E.  A.  Sot  hem.  gi 

the  companionship  of  noblemen  may  be, 
it  is  exacting  upon  the  purse  strings  of 
one  not  equally  endowed  by  the  nation,  and 
too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  receive  from  any 
man  without  reciprocating.  Thus,  after  years  Expense  of 
of  professional  prosperity,  but  also  years  Of£ashionablelife- 
race  horses  and  clubs  and  costly  enter- 
tainments, Mr.  Sothern  told  me  he  must  return 
to  America  and  earn  something  for  his  old 
age.  He  had  made  one  fortune  and  spent  it; 
he  must  now  come  where  he  could  not  only 
make  but  save  !  We  find  excuse  for  the  fol- 
lies of  a  prince  in  thinking  over  his  tempta- 
tions, but  from  his  very  position  the  prince  is 
hedged  about  and  saved  from  many  a  pit- 
fall ;  whereas,  let  any  one  reading  these  lines 
think  seriously  of  the  balance  any  ordinary 
man  must  have  had  to  be  received  as  a  friend 
by  a  proud  aristocracy  —  not  their  companion 
only,  but  a  leader !     It  seems  to  me  that  no,     „  , 

J  Mr.  Sothern's 

greater  tribute  could  be  paid  Mr.  Sothern  single-hearted 
than  for  a  looker-on  to  say  that  he  was  truena 
to  himself  throughout,  inasmuch  as  he  re- 
mained the  same  single-hearted  man  from 
first  to  last;  at  ease  with  his  friends  and 
able  to  place  them  at  their  ease  —  gentle  or 
simple  —  and  stanch  to  them,  one  and  all, 
whether  they  belonged  to  the  present  or  the 

past. 


92 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


His  droll  let- 
ters. 


Offer  to  pur- 
chase the 
Brunswick. 


past.  Let  me  not  forget  what  I  have  been 
told  —  that  with  a  large  correspondence  and  a 
busy  life,  he  was  never  known  to  leave  a  let- 
ter addressed  to  his  name  unanswered,  whether 
it  bore  the  stamp  of  riches  or  poverty.  No 
small  test  of  politeness  !  These  same  letters 
of  Sotherns  were  the  very  archetypes  of  droll 
composition,  and  are  kept  as  curiosities  by 
their  lucky  possessors.  One  friend  I  know 
received  a  most  important  looking  envelope. 
Seeing  "private"  in  large  characters,  it  was 
wonderingly  laid  by  for  the  moment,  until 
quiet  and  seclusion  could  be  had,  and  then 
the  mysterious,  official-looking  document  was 
carefully  opened  and  a  sheet  of  blank  paper 
extracted.  This  was  turned  and  shaken,  the 
envelope  inspected,  the  floor  supiciously 
glanced  at  for  what  could  have  fallen  out, 
even  a  sensation  of  alarm  felt  for  what  might 
be  lost,  before  the  joke  was  fairly  understood. 
To  one  person  he  signed  himself  according  to 
his  moods,  "Ever  yours  much  and  very," 
"  Ever  yours  extra  very,"  "  Yours  fanati- 
cally," "  britannically,  "  "frightfully,"  "mon- 
strously," "cringingly,"  "suspiciously askew!" 
The  following  was  sent  on  the  outside  of  an 
envelope,  and  perhaps  caused  more  pain  than 
pleasure,  since  it  was  addressed  to  a  shy  young 
girl  whose  great  dread  was  that  it  might  have 

been 


E.  A.   So  them.  gj 

been  read  by  some  indiscreet  person,  and 
together  with  her  name,  get  into  the  news- 
papers : 

"  They  positively  refused  your  offer  of 
$400,000  for  the  Brunswick  Hotel  here,  but 
if  you  will  make  it  $20,000  more,  I  think  I 
can  secure  it  for  you.  Terms  would  be  $250,- 
000  cash,  the  balance  on  mortgage  for  three 
years  at  7  per  cent.  If  'yes,'  send  me  a 
telegram,  and  I  will  pay  the  deposit  for  you, 
though  I  cannot  conceive  what  you  will  do 
with  so  large  a  private  residence.  Poor  old 
Shogner,  your  godfather,  died  this  morning  sho  ner,s 
in  great  agony,  having  accidently  swallowed  death. 
his  tooth  brush  as  he  was  parting  his  hair. 
Don't  worry  yourself,  I  will  see  him  buried, 
attend  to  flowers,  etc.     Very,  very  sad ! 

E.  A.  SOTHERN. " 

At  a  house  in  Boston  where  distinguished 
people  are  not  unknown,  the  maid  one  day 
astonished  her  mistress  by  announcing  "  The 
Duke  of  Wellington.'1''  There  was  a  debon-TheDukeof 
air,  calm,  condescending  grace  about  the  Wellinston- 
man  that  caused  the  well  trained  servant  to 
transmit  the  extraordinary  announcement 
with  good  faith.  It  is  needless  to  unmask  the 
famous  hero. 

Upon  the  recovery  of  the  Prince  of  Wales, 

after 


gj.  Yesterdays  with  Actors, 

after  an  illness  some  years  ago,  a  holiday  was 
appointed  to  express  the  national  rejoicing. 
Special  services  were  held  at  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  and  the  streets  through  which  the 
procession  was  to  pass  were  densely  crowded 
hours  before.  The  lines  were  drawn  by  the 
cordon  of  military  and  police,  and  the  road 
left  perfectly  clear,  as  is  the  rule  on  these 
occasions,  a  rule  which  only  the  military  or 
Mr.  sothem's  police  dare  to  break.  Sothern  had  promised 
dilemma.  t()  j0jn  a  party  0f  men  at  the  club,  and  at  the 

eleventh  hour  and  a  half,  here  he  was,  wedged 
in  with  the  seething  crowd  on  one  side  of  the 
way,  the  faces  of  his  smiling  comrades  at  the 
club  window  on  the  other  ;  only  a  few  yards 
between  them,  but  the  barrier  was  impenetra- 
ble. The  laugh  turned  on  the  practical  joker, 
for  they  knew  there  was  no  help  for  him  this 
time.  What  was  their  surprise  to  see  the 
crowd  sway  to  and  fro.  Angry  voices  were 
heard  —  cries  of  "pickpocket."  The  strong 
arm  of  the  law  seized  the  offender,  and 
Sothern  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  is  hur- 
riedly led  in  the  direction  of  the  nearest 
Escape  in  the  station,  which  well  he  knew  was  at  a  corner 
roie  of  a  pick-  on  t]ie    0t-her  s[&e  0f   the  street.     The  club 

door  once  gained,  a  card  verifying  his  whis- 
pered "  I  am   Sothern  ;  all  right,  thank  you," 
and  five  shillings  to  boot,  enabled  the  "un- 
abashed" 


pocket. 


E.  A.   Sot  hern.  g$ 

abashed "    to    escape    to    his    own    party  in 
triumph. 

On  another  occasion  the  scene  is  a  private  Tiger  hides  the 
parlor  in  a  hotel,  where  the  actor  and  guests  ro 
are  gathered  about  the  fire,  while  a  pompous 
waiter  is  concluding  the  arrangements  of  the 
dinner  table.     He  enters  with  a  tray  of  rolls, 
places  them  carefully  at  the  places,  regards 
the  distribution  with  a  solemn  eye,  corrects 
with    mathematical    precision     some     slight 
irregularities    and    retires.     No    sooner    has 
the    door  closed    than   Mr.  Sothern   whistles 
to  his  trained  clog   Tiger,  who  leaps  up,  takes 
one  roll  after  another  and  places  them  under 
the  sofa.     The  waiter  returns  with  the  nap- 
kins, and  as  he  is  assorting  them,  discovers 
with  intense  surprise  that  the  bread  is  gone. 
Has  his  memory  deserted  him  ?     He  thought  a  disconcerted 
he  remembered  the  accuracy  with  which  heWi 
laid  a  roll  at  every  place,  and  yet — he  must 
have  been  mistaken  ;  they  are  not  there!     He 
hurriedly  repairs  his   omission,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  his  tormentors,  who  remain  clus- 
tered about  the  fire  in  conversation,  while  he 
retires  into  the  adjoining  room  to  await  the 
last  expected  guest.     No  sooner  is  his  back 
turned    than    Tiger  repeats   his   trick.     This 
time,  as  the  waiter  enters  with  the  cooler,  he 
stares    at    the    table,    rubs    his    head,  —  and 

finally 


96 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Mr.  Sothern's 
belated  guest. 


A  disconcert- 
ing situation. 


finally  the  observant  party  discover,  by  the 
contemptuous  gleam  of  intelligence  in  his 
impassive  face,  that  he  has  settled  the  mat- 
ter to  his  mental  satisfaction.  The  hungry 
convives  must  have  eaten  the  rolls  in  his 
absence !  No  remonstrance  can  be  wrung 
from  his  starched  propriety,  but  he  plainly 
resolves  that  no  more  rations  shall  be  sup- 
plied until  they  are  seated  at  table.  The 
belated  guest  has  not  come,  and  in  obedience 
to  Mr.  Sothern's  request  the  dinner  is  served 
—  the  gentlemen  sit  clown.  Then,  and  not 
until  then,  does  the  waiter  reappear  with  his 
rolls,  and  the  cold  stab  of  the  fork  which  every 
one  receives,  as  it  is  set  down,  emphasizes 
his  indignation.  A  step  is  heard.  The  host 
exclaims:  "  Quick,  there  is  Fred.;  get  under 
the  table."  No  sooner  said  than  there  is  a 
scramble  to  carry  out  the  happy  thought.  In 
the  confusion  it  is  not  perceived  that  Soth- 
ern  retains  his  seat  at  the  head  of  the  board. 
Fred,  comes  in,  and  he  rises  to  greet  him 
with  his  usual  affability.  "Hallo,  where  are 
our  friends  ?  I  thought  I  was  awfully  late." 
"Why,"  says  Mr.  Sothcrn,  "I  can't  fancy 
what  possessed  them,  but,  strangely  enough, 
as  soon  as  they  heard  you  coming  they  all 
got  under  the  table ! "  And  so,  with  a  dis- 
concerted air,  the  betrayed  conspirators  had 

to 


E.  A.  Sothern.  gy 

to  crawl  out,  while  Sotheru  looked  on  with 
courteous  sympathy. 

I  have  before  me  an  album  of  sketches  Mr.  sothem 
which  is  treasured  by  an  old  friend  of  this as  an  artist* 
versatile  being.  It  contains  every  sort  of 
grotesque  illustration  of  his  private  and  pub- 
lic life  —  the  theatrical  supernumerary,  the 
crushed  tragedian,  sleeping  car  scenes,  camp 
life,  landing  a  salmon,  and  what  not  —  drawn 
with  as  delightful  a  humor  as  TJiackeray  s 
famous  vignettes.  There  is  a  most  spirited 
pen  and  ink  drawing  of  two  negro  fencers 
standing  at  guard,  on  the  outside  of  an  envel- 
ope ;  inspired,  apparently,  by  the  postage 
stamp,  which  is  framed  as  a  banner,  carried 
over  the  shoulder  of  one  of  the  combatants. 
Four  strokes  of  the  pen  have  produced  a 
wonderful  burlesque  of  the  face  of  a  distin- 
guished brother  actor.  Dainty  little  water 
colors,  full  of  sentiment  and  fancy,  are 
interspersed.  One  hideous  face,  with  a 
"boiled"  eve,  a  true  iettatura,  is  drawn  on  r,he  iettatura  at 

J     '  J  the  theatre. 

an  envelope,  with  a  legend  written  under  it, 
"  This  is  the  likeness  of  a  man  who  has  fixed 
me  with  his  eye,  in  the  parquet.  Pity  me  !  " 
This  scrap  of  paper  was  sent  to  the  box 
where  the  friend  who  owns  this  precious 
album  was  sitting,  with  a  party  of  ladies, 
during  one    of    Mr.   Sothem  s  performances. 

What 


g8  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

What  was  their  horror  when,  standing  di- 
rectly under  them,  he  presently  wove  into 
his  part  the  line :  "  That  man  has  got  his  eye 
on  me  now,"  looking  into  their  faces  and 
speaking  with  the  most  deliberate  distinct- 
ness. So  certain  were  they  that  the  entire 
audience  must  be  privy  to  the  confidence, 
that  the  whole  group  rushed  to  the  back  of 
the  box  and  were  seen  no  more.  Yet  they 
forgave  him  ! 
Mr.  sothern-s  All  this  was  only  one  side  of  the  man's 
chanty.  character,  that  fell  in  most  happily  with  the 

exigencies  of  a  bright  moment.  There  were 
in  this  same  nature  minor  chords  far  more 
precious  to  those  who  knew  them.  Among 
the  charity  funds  of  Boston  there  existed, 
during  Mr.  Sothcrn 's  lifetime,  a  perennial 
one  administered  by  his  oldest  friend,  be- 
loved by  him  and  by  multitudes  among  her 
townsfolk,  for  her  great  heart  and  good  deeds. 
It  was  originally  a  hundred  dollars,  and  she 
was  admonished  never  to  let  it  be  exhausted, 
but  to  ask  for  more  in  time,  and  keep  the 
treasury  replenished,  that  the  drafts  upon  it 
to  the  order  of  the  unfortnnate  might  always 
be  honored.  Many  and  many  a  time  was  the 
unfailing  cruse  refilled  by  the  giver,  and 
,    when  Mr.   Sothem  died,  Mrs.    Vincent   held 

Mrs.  \  inccnt  s 

Sothem  fund,    in  her  trust   eleven  dollars.      She  still    has 

that 


E.  A.  Sot  hern.  gg 

that  eleven  dollars! — for,  she  says,  I  can't 
bear  to  have  it  come  to  an  end,  and  though 
I  try  to  send  no  one  away,  I  manage  some- 
how to  keep  the  sum  made  up,  so  that  his 
work  may  not  cease." 


i-i-.'  '  ■ 


CHAPTER 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Ben.  De  Bar. 
J.  H.  Hackctt. 
James  E.   Murdoch. 


Matilda  Heron. 
Mrs.  John     Wood. 
Mrs.  Lander. 


Ben.  De  Bar  in 

St.  Louis  and 
New  Orleans. 


The  Paris  of 
America. 


Ben.  De  Bar,  the  brother-in-law  of  Junius 
Brutus  Booth,  was  a  very  successful  manager 
and  actor  thirty  years  ago.  He  conducted 
two  theatres,  of  which  the  good  seasons  were 
complementary;  one  in  St.  Louis,  which  he 
would  open  for  the  autumn  months,  and  then, 
letting"  it  for  the  winter,  carry  his  company  to 
New  Orleans,  bringing  them  back  to  St.  Louis 
in  the  spring.  New  Orleans  in  those  days 
was  the  Paris  of  America  ;  there  was  a  de- 
lightful French  society,  a  French  part  of  the 
town,  French  churches,  French  opera,  and 
the  principal  boulevard  had  even  its  French 
side  of  the  way.  The  season  was  short,  but 
exceedingly  gay  ;  everything  of  the  best  was 
to  be  had  for  money,  and  money  was  lavishly 
spent.     To  enable  us  to  meet  the  extravagant 

prices 


Ben.  Dc  Bar.  10/ 

prices  we  must  pay,  salaries  that  were  thirty 
dollars  in  St.  Louis,  were  fifty  dollars  in  New 
Orleans. 

There  were  incidental  expenses  that  one 
never  had  elsewhere,  and  for  which  a  stranger 
was  totally  unprepared.  For  example,  I 
remember  once  being  caught  in  one  of  the  a  tropical  rain 
frequent  tropical  rain  storms  of  that  re- s ' 
gion,  and,  after  waiting  half  an  hour  in  a 
shop,  its  owner  suggested  that  I  should  let 
him  hail  the  next  cab  ;  otherwise  I  shouldn't 
get  home  at  all,  as  the  "water  was  rising." 
In  fact,  the  gutters  and  gratings  over  the 
sewers  were  rapidly  being  blocked  by  the 
imprisoned  rainfall,  so  that  walking  would  be 
soon  impossible.  A  carriage  came  splashing 
past.  He  beckoned  it,  and  while  I  was  lift- 
ing my  skirts  and  looking  hopelessly  at  two  a  gallant  cab 
or  three  inches  of  water,  the  cabman,  who man- 
knew  his  business,  and  was  provided  for  the 
occasion  with  boots  up  to  his  waist,  came 
toward  me,  and  before  I  suspected  his  inten- 
tions, had,  to  my  great  surprise,  safely  landed 
me  in  the  cab,  having  accomplished  that  feat 
by  taking  me  in  both  arms,  as  is  the  custom 
in  such  a  storm.  He  went  through  the  same 
ceremony  at  my  own  door,  and  the  entirely 
novel  sensation  was,  perhaps,  worth  the  five 
dollars  he  charged ;  certainly  the  getting  home 

dry 


102 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


The  waters 
subside. 


The  Mardi 
Gras. 


dry  was,  and  as  the  next  hour  went  by,  and  the 
next,  and  I  sat  at  the  windows  watching  the 
water  rise  first  up  to  the  level  of  one  step, 
and  then  a  second,  my  gratitude  rose  in  like 
manner,  until  that  cabman  appeared  in  the 
light  of  my  preserver,  and  his  reward  a  mere 
bagatelle.  At  the  third  hour,  the  swollen 
rain,  having  nearly  reached  the  point  of  en- 
trance into  the  house,  the  sky  lightened  and 
the  storm  ceased  as  suddenlv  as  it  began. 
Waders  came  with  carts  and  pitchforks,  and, 
standing  knee-deep  in  water,  cleared  the  grat- 
ings of  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  freshet. 
The  streets  emptied  themselves  so  rapidly 
that  in  two  hours  the  wooden  sidewalks 
were  perfectly  clear,  without  trace  of  the 
deluge,  save  for  the  half  drowned  rats,  ex- 
pelled from  their  haunts,  whose  dismal 
squeaks  startled  the  wayfarer  as  he  trod  the 
loose  planks,  beneath  which  they  had  found 
refuge. 

The  festivities  of  the  Mardi  Gras  are  a 
twice-told  tale,  and  yet  my  memory  lingers 
fondly  on  that  holiday  time  in  old  New  Or- 
leans, with  its  fantastically  dressed  crowds,  the 
interchange  of  witty  sallies,  the  throwing  of 
confetti  and  the  beautiful  pageant  of  the  even- 
ing. Glories  now  passed  away  as  are  those 
of   the    Roman    carnival !     Gentlefolks  kept 

from 


Ben.  Dc  Bar.  10 J 

from  the  streets  during  the  day,  which  were 
possessed,  for  the  most  part,  by  the  merry- 
making vulgar.  At  night  they  were  all  ablaze  The  night  pr0. 
with  flambeaux;  every  illuminated  window cession- 
filled  with  people  in  full  dress  for  the  coming 
ball,  watching  the  long  train  of  cars  which 
bore  the  groups  of  living  statuary,  draped 
all  in  white,  admirably  posed,  like  figures  of 
purest  marble  —  their  motionless  silence  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  noise  and  tumult 
which  was  hushed  for  the  passage  of  the  weird 
and  ghostly  procession.  Beside  the  private  par- 
ties, there  was  the  great  masked  ball  at  the 
St.  Charles  Theatre,  which  Mr.  Dc  Bar  sur- 
rendered for  the  occasion. 

This  favorite  low  comedian  was  of  the  Bur-  Mr.  De  Bar's 
ton  school,  comically  fat,  with  large  blue  eyesst>  e 
and  an  innocent  stare,  a  round,  boyish  face, 
with  a  portentous  grin,  genial,  but  never 
coarse.  Even  his  Bayadere,  in  ballet  cos- 
tume, illustrated  by  brilliant  dancing  and 
travestied  feminine  graces,  never  passed  the 
limits  of  perfect  propriety. 

Who  that  ever  saw  The  Two  Boys  will  The  Two  Boys 
forget  Ben.  De  Bar  as  one  of  them,  in  school- 
boy rig  of  short  nankeen  trousers,  very  much 
outgrown  jacket,  deep  collar  and  several-years- 
too-small  round  straw  hat,  the  good-humored 
rosy  face  framed  in  an  aureole  of  flaxen  hair? 

Carlyle 


W4 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Mr.  De  Bar 

unconsciously 
funnv. 


His  integrritv. 


Carlyle,  in  his  most  dyspeptic  mood,  must 
have  been  diverted  at  the  sight  of  this  "  fat 
boy  "  mounting  a  stool  to  "  speak  his  piece  " — 
"  Friends,  Romans,  countrymen  "  —  with  the 
sawing  gestures  of  an  awkward  lad  and  a  voice 
as  tiny  as  his  hat.  We  are  told  of  the  incom- 
parable Liston  (who,  by  the  by,  always  be- 
lieved himself  a  crushed  tragedian)  that  he 
was  unintentionally  droll  in  the  most  common- 
place utterances,  so  that  when  he  said,  without 
a  smile,  "  I  wonder  where  the  trees  come 
from  !  "  the  audience  would  be  convulsed  with 
mirth.  The  same  with  Mr.  De  Bar.  It  does 
not  seem  funny  to  write,  but  the  innocent 
simplicity  of  speech  and  shrinking  apology  of 
manner  with  which  he  replied,  when  asked  to 
''Step  in  a  little,"  "  I  will  step  in,  but  I  can't 
step  in  a  little"  was  very,  very  funny  to 
hear,  and  the  stage  would  wait  half  a  minute 
after  it  for  the  laughter  and  applause  to  cease. 
Ben.  De  Bar  was  not  unknown  in  the  East, 
but  in  New  Orleans,  where  he  made  his  first 
appearance  in  America,  and  in  St.  Louis,  he 
held  that  peculiarly  cheerful  place  in  popular 
esteem  which  belongs  to  his  line  of  business. 
A  man  of  great  integrity,  he  lost,  as  is  often 
the  case,  in  management  what  he  had  made 
as  a  star.  I  think  that  Mr.  De  Bar  with  Mr. 
Moses  Kimball  and  Mr.    Wallaek,  were   the 

only 


Ben.  Dc  Bar.  105 

only  managers  in  this  country  who  paid  their 
actors  in  full  through  the  disastrous  season  of 

1857. 

We  used  to  go  up  and  down  the  Mis- 
sissippi in  the  high  pressure  steamboats,  and 
a  most  delightfully  high  pressure  life  we  had 
on  board  these  agreeable,  but  flimsy  craft,  in 
the  gay,  antebellum  days.  I  have  been  told 
that  people  put  off  their  journey  for  the  fun  of 
travelling  with  Mr.  Dc  Bar,  and  what  halcyon  Mr  De  Rarnn 
times  those  were  for  the  waiters !  I  have  seen  the  Mississippi, 
half  a  score  of  chuckling  auditors  at  the  back 
of  his  chair  at  one  time,  while  all  the  other 
guests  were  neglected.  When  a  very  small 
piece  of  beef  was  brought  by  one  of  them, 
Ben.  Dc  Bar  was  the  originator  of  the  joke, 
"Yes!  yes!  yes!  That's  it !  that's  it !  that's 
it !  bring  me  some,"  causing  the  colored  men 
to  explode  with  mirth  as  they  disappeared, 
with  their  heads  in  their  aprons,  into  the 
steward's  room.  As  he  opened  his  big  eyes 
upon  the  laughing  table  with  an  injured 
stare,  he  was  even  more  comical  than  when 
intending  to  be  so,  a  moment  after,  he  said, 
thanking  the  boy  for  filling  his  order:  "But 
you  need  never  trouble  yourself  to  bring  me 
a  sample  again." 

There  was  dancing,  music  and  card  playing  Life  on  the 
on     these    Mississippi    boats,    the    pleasures  *Ilsslssippi 

heightened, 


Io6  ■       Yesterdays  zvitJi  Actors. 

heightened,  perhaps,  by  the  constant  expec- 
tation of  possible  snag,  or  fire,  or  explosion. 
There  were  picturesque  scenes  at  the  land- 
ings by  night ;  the  pine  torches  glaring  on 
the  shiny  black  faces,  in  the  busy  task  of 
"wooding  up,"  the  toil  enlivened  by  quaint 
cries  and  catches  of  native  melodies.  Then, 
under  way  again,  the  pathway  of  the  steamer 
lighted  up  by  the  shower  of  sparks  which  fell 
on  the  dark  waters. 

a  tragedy.  I  was  a  witness  to  one  of   the  tragedies 

which  often  startled  the  thoughtless  and 
happy,  sporting  so  near  the  jaws  of  danger. 
There  came  on  board  one  night,  at  a  landing 
where  we  touched,  a  haggard  man  with  a 
colored  nurse  and  a  wizened  infant.  The  fun 
had  just  ended,  for  it  was  late,  and  most  of 
the  passengers  had  gone  to  their  state-rooms. 
But  the  wailing  of  the  child  brought  some 
motherly  hearts  to  the  saloon,  and  the  poor 
fellow's  story  soon  found  human  sympathy, 
and  the  infant  such  comfort  as  its  exhausted 
nurse  seemed  unable  to  give.     He  had  been 

a  snagged  travelling  with  his  wife,  maid  and  two  chil- 
dren on  a  vessel  which  had  been  snagged  by 
night.  Almost  before  they  could  get  on  a 
few  clothes  the  steamer  filled.  The  man 
knew  that  their  only  hope  was  to  reach  the 
boats,  and,  in  the  darkness,  terror  and  con- 
fusion, 


■/essel. 


Ben.  Dc  Bar.  ioj 

fusion,  started  with  his  family  for  the  deck 
At  the  foot  of  the  gangway  the  nurse  and 
baby  were  separated  from  them.  He  turned 
back  to  seek  her,  telling  his  wife  and  little 
girl  to  stand  still  and  wait  for  him.  Every 
moment  the  panic  was  becoming  greater,  and 
the  crowd  of  partly  dressed,  frightened  people 
grew  more  and  more  distracted  as  they 
surged  up  and  around  the  gangway.  Some 
wanted  to  return  for  valuables  ;  others  were 
being  dragged,  against  their  will,  half  faint- 
ing, out  of  the  sinking  ship.  The  man  took 
the  baby  from  the  nurse,  told  her  to  follow 
him,  pushed  his  way  back  to  the  place  where 
he  had  left  his  wife,  and  taking  the  woman 
and  child  he  found  there,  struggled  to  the 
deck,  then  to  the  boat,  which  they  reached  in 
time.  As  the  steamer  sank,  by  the  a  fatal  mis- 
lantern's  light,  he  saw  that  the  woman  and  tllke- 
child  were  strangers,  and  realized  that  he  had 
left  his  own  dear  ones  to  perish  !  He  had 
waited  a  week  to  recover  their  bodies,  and  I 
never  can  forget  the  subsequent  landing  at 
his  own  home,  which  he  had  quitted  six 
weeks  before.  The  dying  infant  was  carried 
on  shore,  followed  by  two  coffins.  The  poor, 
heartbroken  man  staggered  after  them,  and 
fell  into  his  friends'  arms,  with  a  cry  that 
made  the  blood  run  cold. 

Another 


ioS  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Yellow  fever.  Another  reminder  of  the  darker  possibili- 
ties of  life  was  the  discussion  of  the  date  of 
our  going  to  New  Orleans,  dangerous  until  the 
latent  scourge  of  the  yellow  fever  was  subdued 
by  the  first  frosts.  I  must  instance  the  thought- 
fulness  with  which,  at  a  great  pecuniary  loss, 
Mr.  De  Bar  would  postpone  the  departure  of 
his  unacclimatized  company  until  absolute 
safety  was  certain.  We  had,  of  course,  a  con- 
stant succession  of  stars,  and,  in  addition  to 
the  enormous  labor  of  nightly  changes  of  bills 
with  them,  the  stock  company  played  alone 
on  Sunday  night,  the  great  night  of  the  week 
in  New  Orleans,  and  too  profitable  to  share, 
especially  since  the  manager  reserved  himself 
for  these  occasions.     Custom  has  now  famil- 

Sunday  acting,  iarized  Sunday  amusements,  but  to  some 
people  these  performances  were  a  dark  cloud 
that  rested  upon  all  the  bright  season,  and  I 
saw  one  sick  room  painfully  haunted  with 
remorse,  and  its  pain  accepted  as  a  penalty 
for  wrong  doing. 

Thestrainof         Looking   back    to    these   days,    it   is  diffi 

study.  Cll]t    j-0  believe   that  mind  and    body    could 

have  borne  the  strain  of  learning  and 
remembering  long  parts  of  hundreds  of 
lines  night  after  night.  I  have  heard  actors 
say  :  "  I  could  get  up  in  my  sleep  and  go  on 
for  Shakespeare."     I   remember  one  old  lady 

who 


Ben.  Dc  Bar.  log 

who  told  me  she  studied  the  Duchess  of  York 
in  Richard  III.,  when  she  was  sixteen,  and 
had  never  looked  at  the  book  since  ;  but  all 
are  not  so  fortunate,  and  in  my  own  case, 
without  having  what  is  called  a  "  quick 
study,"  I  never  retained  a  part  for  six- 
weeks  in  my  life.  My  practice  was  to  re-read  Reading  parts 
even  the  most  familiar  part  the  night  before  ovcrnisht- 
a  performance,  and  so  confirmed  a  habit  did 
this  become  that  I  felt  utterly  incompetent  in 
an  emergency.  Once  only  do  I  remember 
speaking  the  words  correctly  without  sleeping 
upon  them,  and  that  was  when  unexpectedly 
called  upon  to  study  Lady  Macbeth.  The 
part  is  short,  but  the  importance  of  such  a 
role  and  my  total  want  of  ability  to  cope  with 
it,  gave  me  no  time  for  sleep.  Indeed  I  was 
sleepless  for  thirty-two  or  thirty-three  hours. 
Remember,  this  was  not  mere  memorizing, 
but  exciting  absorption  in  a  character  which 
left  the  mind  thrilling  and  the  eyelids  quiver- 
ing long  after  it  was  over. 

There  was  a  certain  train  arriving  at  four  To  bed  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  whistle  of  which  in  thc  m<>rning. 
was  the  earliest  signal  for  giving  up  my  task 
for  many  months ! 

It  is  perhaps  because  the  river  journeys 
were  such  rare  interludes  of  rest  that  retro- 
spection pictures  them  as  such  oases. 

Matilda 


no 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Matilda  Her- 
on's eccentri- 
city. 


Letter  on  a 
hotel 'wall. 


Speech  in  St. 
Louis. 


Matilda  Heron,  that  most  impulsive,  large- 
hearted  and  erratic  being,  the  founder  of  the 
"emotional"  school,  came  to  us  in  St. 
Louis,  where  she  was  a  great  favorite.  As  a 
pupil  of  Peter  RicJiings,  she  had  a  careful 
training,  but  her  chief  claim  to  public  interest 
in  her  early  career  lay  in  eccentricity,  before 
as  well  as  behind  the  curtain.  I  once  fol- 
lowed her  at  the  Planters'  Hotel,  St.  Louis, 
and  occupied  the  room  she  had  left.  On  the 
wall,  besides  the  fireplace,  she  had  written  in 
immense  crayon  letters,  "Easter  Sunday. 
God  bless  St.  Louis  !  Matilda  Heron." 
She  used  to  make  vehement  and  passionate 
speeches  when  she  was  called  out.  I  remem- 
ber this  conclusion  to  one  in  the  same  city : 
"You  were  the  first  people  to  take  me  by  the 
hand.  I  thank  you  for  this  beautiful  audi- 
ence. I  love  you.  I  owe  to  you  my  hus- 
band. I  owe  to  you  my  child.  I  have  clone 
what  I  could  for  you.  For  your  sake  I  have 
called  her  LouiscY'  She  was  playing  a  very 
successful  engagement,  and  I  went  to  her  for 
assistance  in  behalf  of  two  children  of  a 
deceased  member  of  the  company,  whose  ex- 
penses must  be  paid  home,  and  who  were  to 
leave  by  the  same  train  that  she  was  to  take 
the  next  day.  I  did  not  think  Miss  Heron 
particularly  regarded  what  had  been  said,  but 

when 


Matilda  Heron.  in 

when  she  was  seated  in  the  car  the  following  A  dramatic 

,  -,  ,  scene  with  two 

morning,  and  our  good  treasurer  appeared  ornhans. 
with  the  two  interesting  orphans,  she  rushed 
to  them,  and  crying :  "  What  are  these  ?  Are 
these  the  poor,  dear  things  ?  "  knelt  in  the 
aisle,  clutched  them  to  her  breast,  and,  with 
her  free  hand  emptying  her  pockets,  show- 
ered them  with  gold  pieces !  When  Sarah 
Siddons  took  a  potato,  she  stabbed  it ;  when 
she  muttered  to  the  salesman,  over  a  piece  of 
print,  "  Will  it  wash?"  she  made  him  shake 
in  his  shoes.  Matilda  Heron  was  dramatic 
to  the  last  degree  on  every  occasion.  She 
was  to  follow  me  in  an   engagement   I  was 

.  .  .  .  Miss  Heron 

playing  in  Indianopohs,  and  arrived  on  Sunday  objects  to  a 
evening.  When  I  went  to  call  upon  her  in  knocking- 
her  room,  which  was  close  by  mine  in  the 
same  hotel,  there  was  an  intermittent  knock- 
ing eroing  on  overhead  and  she  asked  me  what 
it  meant.  "Wrere  they  putting  down  carpets 
on  Sunday?"  I  said  they  must  have  been 
doing  it  all  the  week,  for  the  noise  had  dis- 
turbed me  by  clay  and  sometimes  by  night. 
Miss  Heron  said  she  should  not  be  as  patient 
as  I  had  been,  and  instantly  rang  the  bell. 
When  the  waiter  came,  she  told  him,  with  a 
most  tragic  manner,  that  "the  noise  must 
cease."  After  waiting  half  an  hour,  while  it 
continued  as  before,  she  passionately  pulled 

the 


112  Yesterdays  zvith  Actors. 

Rebuke  to  the   the  bell  again  and  sent  for  the  clerk.    Throw- 
hotel  clerk.       -ng  jier  ghawl  about  her  like  a  Roman  toga, 

with  a  commanding  gesture,  she  repeated  : 
"This  noise  must  cease.  It  is  sinful  to  put 
down  carpets  on  Sunday  night."  The  man 
reluctantly  explained  that  he  could  not  stop 
the  knocking,  because  it  came  from  a 
coffin  maker,  whose  workshop  was  overhead. 
"All  the  same,"  said  Matilda  Heron,  "it 
must  be  stopped.  I'll  have  no  such  doings 
during  my  engagement!"  And,  cowed  by 
her  Medea  tone  and  attitude,  the  functionary 
bowed  and  retired,  apparently  quelled  into 
obedience,  and  prepared  to  stop  coffin  making 
and  funerals  for  the  next  two  weeks  in 
Indianapolis! 
Miss  Heron's  Miss  Heron  was  one  of  the  first  actresses 
who  made  a  point  of  wardrobe,  and  had  her 
costumes  described  in  the  newspapers.  She 
had  excellent  taste,  and,  while  she  studied 
Doclie  in  Paris  for  many  months,  she  also 
studied  millinery  and  dressmaking.  Her 
laces  were  such  as  any  lady  might  have  worn 
in  a  ball  room,  and  she  told  me  that  the  large 
square  veil  of  real  point  that  she  wore  in 
the  first  act  of  Camille,  she  intended,  some- 
what incongruously,  to  bequeath  to  the 
church,  of  which  she  was  a  member,  for  an 
altar  cloth.  She  generously  gave  me  per- 
mission 


wardrobe. 


J.  H.  Hackctt.  113 

mission    to    play  her   version    of    La   Dame 

aux  Camelias.     One  day  in  New  York,  after 

her  retirement,   I   received  a  line  from  her 

saying :    "  Please  let  two  little  boys  see  our 

Camille."     I    sent    for  the  boys,    and  asked 

where  she  was,  for  it  had  been  months  since 

she  had  disappeared  from  the  knowledge  of 

her  friends.      It  was  an  obscure  address,  and 

I  found  it  with  difficulty  —  she  had  been  ill, 

and  owed  her  life   to  the  good  Sisters  who 

nursed  her.     Matilda  Heron  was  now  living 

in    one    room,    with    poor    surroundings,     in 

greatly  reduced    circumstances,    changed    in  changed  cir- 

manner   and  appearance,   reminding    me,  as  cumstances. 

she  stood  there  in  her  black  dress,  a  long, 

gray  curl  falling  on  either  side  of  her  face,  of 

Marie   Antoinette    after    her    sorrow.      One 

jewel    she    had,  beyond  all  price,    her   little 

child,  still  daintily  dressed  and  cared  for, 

I  treasure  a  characteristic  little  line  she 
gave  me — in  the  whole  interview  the  only 
touch  of  her  former  self  —  addressed  to 
George  Ryer'va.  London,  which  says:  "Give 
her  my  Pearl,  and  play  in  it  yourself  with  her. 
Love  me  a  little,  and  think  of  me  a  great 
deal,  as  of  old." 

Mr.  Dc  Bar  was  the  promptest  of    mana-  Mr  De  Bar 
gers.     His  punctuality  was  the  cause  of  an  punctual  man- 
unprecedentedly  meagre  Falstaff  in  the  first  ag 

act 


ii4 


Yesterdays  zvith  Actors. 


Mr.  Hackett 
late. 


A  meagre  Fal- 
staff. 


Another  slip. 


act  of  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  Mr. 
Hackett  was  the  star,  and 
very  late  on  this  occa- 
sion. Nobody  suspected 
it  of  his  conscientious 
and  trustworthy  habit, 
and  lateness  was  never 
allowed  by  Mr.  De  Bar. 
The  Falstaffian  paunch 
is  a  rubber  bag,  which  is  blown  up.  When 
the  moment  came  for  the  rising  of  the  cur- 
tain, the  call  boy  rushed  to  the  prompter  with 
a  "Stop,  stop,  Mr.  Hackett  isn't  blown  up 
yet."  Mr.  De  Bar  replied  :  "Then  he  will 
have  to  play  as  he  is ;  my  curtain  waits  for 
nobody,"  and  up  went  the  curtain,  and  on 
went  Mr.  Hackett,  his  doublet  falling  about 
him  like  a  petticoat,  until  an  opportunity 
offered  to  apply  the  bellows.  Anne  Oldfield, 
according  to  Charles  Reade,  says,  when  her 
maid,  full  of  enthusiasm  for  her  inspired  mis- 
tress, demands:  "Oh,  do  tell  me  your  feel- 
ings in  the  theatre."  "Well,  Susan,  first  I 
cast  my  eyes  around  and  try  to  count  the 
house."  It  is  odd  that  my  two  memories  of 
Mr.  Hackett  relate  to  little  slips  in  one  who 
was  so  faithful  and  true  to  his  professional 
duties,  but  this  one  again  occurred  because 
nobody  thought  he  could  ever  need  ordinary 

assistance, 


Mrs.  John  Wood.  115 

assistance,  especially  in  the  character  which 
he  knew  in  every  tone  and  line.  So  the 
prompter  never  thought  of  Falstaff,  and  he 
and  all  the  actors  and  the  audience  were  para- 
lyzed at  a  dead  stick  on  Mr.  Hackett 's  part, 
from  which  he  was  finally  rescued  by  the 
help  of  the  Mr.  Ford,  who  gave  him  his 
line  and  set  him  going  after  considerable  con- 
fusion. I  never  saw  more  mortification  than 
that  with  which  the  great  Shakesperean  con-  Mr  Hackett's 
fessed  that,  having  had  some  doubt  of  the  mortification, 
"returns"  of  the  treasurer,  he  had  lost  his 
cue  in  "counting  the  house."  And  then,  as 
his  good  humor  returned,  how  quaintly  he 
said,  "  His  thefts  were  too  open.  His  filching 
made  mc  an  unskilful  singer.  I  kept  not 
time!"  This  was  neither  in  New  Orleans 
nor  St.  Louis. 

Mrs.  John  J  Food,  the 
ideal  soubrette  and  the 
best  burlesque  actress  I 
ever  saw,  came  to  New      /*■■&&   -^|L Mrs. John 


Orleans  after  her  engage- 
ment at  the  Boston  Thea- 
tre. She  played  farce, 
extravaganza  and  the 
Planche  burlesques  with  innocent  impudence 
and  saucy  effrontery,  which  made  you  catch 
your  breath  for  fear  of  what  might  come  — 

but 


Il6  Yesterdays  with  Ac/ors. 

but  never  did  !  Her  Conrad  the  Corsair  and 
Invisible  Prince,  wore  a  swashing  and  a 
martial  outside.  So  much  so,  that  in  play- 
ing the  opposite  parts  to  her,  it  was  with  a 
perfect  conviction  that  she  was  the  frank, 
bold  boy  she  represented.  Of  course,  Mrs. 
Mrs. Wood's  Wood  was  full  of  the  direct  approach  to  her 
brilliant  acting.  audience^  which  her  style  of  acting  permits, 

and  each  individual  in  it  felt  taken  into  the 
confidence  of  her  brilliant  by-play,  winged  by 
the  arrows  which  shot  from  her  magnificent 
eyes  straight  to  every  susceptible  heart.  She 
was  a  very  effective  singer  and  dancer,  and 
had  every  personal  charm  a  woman  could 
possess.  Her  reign  has  continued  on  both 
continents  with  uninterrupted  success  for 
more  than  thirty  years,  and  she  is  still  an 
established  favorite  on  the  London  boards. 

Mr.  James  E.  Murdoch 
was  another  of  Mr.  Dc 
Bars  stars.     At  the  age 

Mr.  James  E.  1^^i&>  °^     Seveilty-foUl',     tllOUgll 

he  no  longer  lags  super- 
fluous   on   the  stage,  he 
is  yet   capable,   in  occa- 
sional readings,  of  arous- 
ing an  audience  to  the  enthusiasm  which  he 
kindled    in    his    incomparable    light    comedy 
parts  of   yore.      His  Young  Mirabel  was  as 

famous 


Murdoch. 


James  E.   Murdoch.  Iiy 

famous  in  England  as  in  America.  Born  an  Alamollslight 
actor,  though  not  of  theatrical  lineage,  heco™edian- 
served  a  patient  apprenticeship  after  a  con- 
siderable success  on  the  amateur  stage.  Mr. 
Murdoch,  like  most  actors  of  his  time,  played 
the  whole  round  of  the  drama,  Hamlet  one 
night,  the  Inconstant  the  next.  These  large 
foundations  tended  to  produce  better  special 
results  than  the  narrow  training  which  young- 
people  get  nowadays,  in  playing  a  few  parts 
in  a  season,  not  acquiring  a  free  style  but 
their  leaders'  mannerisms.  Mr.  Murdoch, 
like  the  elder  Booth,  had  none.  It  would 
have  been  difficult  to  have  made  him  food 
for  burlesque. 

His  natural  temperament  seemed  more 
fitted  for  the  impersonation  of  tragedy 
than  comedy,  though  his  comedy  was  like 
the  froth  of  champagne.  He  was  a  seri- Mr.  Murdoch's 
ous  and  profound  scholar,  and  intensely  tainmerits* 
interested  in  social  and  political  affairs.  As 
a  Swedenborgian  he  had  a  strong  and  beauti- 
ful faith  in  the  unseen  world.  I  remember 
one  night,  when  the  talk  ran  upon  a  friend 
whom  he  had  loved  and  lost,  he  reproached 
himself  for  speaking  of  loneliness,  and  said, 
while  pointing  to  a  vacant  chair: — "She  is 
there!  " 

A  devoted    patriot,    when    the  war  broke  Patriotism. 

out 


Il8  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

out  he  gave  up  his  career  as  inconsistent 
with  the  serious  purpose  of  the  times, 
packed  his  trunks  and  vowed  never  to  unlock 
his  theatrical  wardrobe  until  peace  should  be 
proclaimed.  That  must  have  been  a  strange 
scene  in  Milwaukee  when,  as  he  was  playing 
Hamlet,  the  news  came  of  Lincoln  s  first  call 
for  troops,  and  Murdoch,  refusing  to  finish 
the  piece,  sent  his  audience  home  in  an  en- 
thusiastic glow  of  patriotism  with  a  burning 
speech,  delivered  from  the  stage,  "  accoutred 
as  he  was  !"  His  health  did  not  allow  him  to 
serve  actively  in  the  field,  but  he  held  a  staff 
position  for  some  time  under  General  Rons- 
scan,  and  by  personal  efforts  and  readings  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  he 
contributed  largely  to  the  national  cause. 
One  word  here  of  another  bright  jewel  of  our 
Mrs.  General  order,  Jean  Margaret  Davenport,  who  married 
Lander.  Colonel,  afterwards  General  Lander,  in  i860. 

Only  two  years  later  he  died  from  the  effect 
of  wounds  received  in  battle,  and  for  love  of 
him  and  in  commemoration  of  his  heroic 
death,  his  widow  took  upon  herself,  with  her 
mother's  assistance,  the  entire  charge  of  the 
hospital  department  at  Port  Royal,  S.  C.  So 
Her  services  in  long  as  Florence  Nightingale's  name  is  revered 
thewarhos-      jn  Enor]anc]  will  Mrs.  Lander 's  devoted  labors 

pital.  & 

be  remembered  in  America.     Not  that  there 

is 


Mrs.  Lander.  ng 

is  anything  inconsistent  in  these  with  a  labor- 
ious and  conscientious  life  as  an  actress,  from 
the  hardships  of  an  infant  prodigy  to  the 
brilliant  success  of  a  crowned  queen  of  the 
stage.      But  the  world  will  have  it  so. 

I  am  always  struck  with  the  common  belief  „,,    .  ,.  ,. 

J  The  belief  in 

that  everybody  knows  enough  to  act.  The  native  talent  for 
apparent  ease  is  borne  in  upon  them,  andactl 
the  happy  conclusion  is  that,  with  "  native 
talent,"  which  all  are  sure  they  possess, 
there  is  little  or  nothing  to  learn.  I 
often  think  of  the  countryman  who  com- 
plained of  the  great  physician  charging 
"a  guinea  for  writing  a  little  bit  of  paper," 
to  which  the  doctor  replied  :  "  Ah,  my  friend, 
but  you  must  remember  how  long  I  have 
been  learning  what  to  write  on  that  little  bit 
of  paper."  Mrs.  Lander,  like  Edmund  Kean 
and  scores  of   others    in  theatrical   families, Mrs- Lander 

.  ,      _  ,  ,  goes  on  the 

went  upon  the  stage  before  she  could  speak  stafre  as  a  child, 
plainly;  and  yet  it  is  such  as  these  who  are 
not  ashamed  to  tell  you  "the  responsibility 
of  standipg  before  an  audience  —  the  proper 
ambition  to  excel  for  my  own  sake — kept  me 
cold  from  nervousness  up  to  my  last  appear- 
ance." It  is  in  these  families  of  actors  — 
peace  be  to  their  ashes  —  we  find  whole  gen- 
erations who  lived  lives  of  constant  study 
and  hard  work,  while   their    private    virtues 

equalled 


120  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Ron  of  Honor,  equalled  their  professional  distinction.  To 
quote  a  few  "of  yesterday,"  I  instance,  first, 
Mrs.  Warner,  a  contemporary  of  Mrs.  Charles 
Kean,  who,  together  with  Mrs.  Kean,  in  her 
hour  of  sorrow,  received  every  tribute  of  ad- 
miration and  respect,  even  the  womanly  sym- 
pathy of  the  Queen  herself;  Mrs.  Fanny 
Kcmble  and  all  her  distinguished  family ; 
Miss  Helen  Faucit,  whose  husband,  Sir  Theo- 
dore Martin,  was  commissioned  to  write  the 
"  Life  of  the  Prince  Consort."  Among  our- 
selves there  is  a  roll  I  am  proud  to  enumer- 
ate ;  Charlotte  CusJunan,  Julia  Dean,  Eliza 
Logan,  Kate  Bateman,  Caroline  Richings, 
Mrs.  Farren,  Mrs.  James  Wallack  and  many 
and  many  another.  What  had  these  of  the 
frivolity  and  vanity  which  are  the  supposed 
Laborious  lives  temptations  of  stage  land  ;  some  working  from 
of  actors.  babyhood — all  spending  their  best  years 
in  the  drudgery  of  their  profession  ?  But 
then,  it  was  recognized  by  them  in  this,  as  in 
other  arts,  that  the  entrance  was  narrow,  long 
and  rugged.  They  must  pursue  it  step  by 
step ;  there  was  no  leaping  over  the  wall. 
Acting  to  an  audience,  like  singing  in  opera, 
was  a  final  result  of  long  and  severe  practice. 
We  cannot  all  possess  the  scholarly  mind  of 
James  E.  Murdoch.  He  is  a  rarely  gifted  man 
among  the  learned.     We  cannot  all  have  the 

strength, 


Mrs.  Lander.  121 

strength,  charity  and  opportunity  combined 

that  made  Mrs.  Lander  more  welcome  in  the 

last  hour  to  those  dying  soldiers  than  ever 

she  was  in  her  glorious  moments  upon  the 

stage ;  but  as  these  names  are  written  and  as 

these  names  are  read,  who  will  not  join  with  Asprigof  rose- 

me  in  placing  one  more  sprig  of  rosemary  in 

the  wreath  they  wear  ?     Who  among  us  does 

not  wish,  with  me,  that  the  path  they  trod  on 

their  way  to  fame  were  the  only  path  ;  that 

their  art  might  never  be  profaned  ? 


CHAPTER 


CHAPTER     VII. 

Boston  Museum. 


Mr.  Barry  Sul- 
livan in  St. 
Louis. 


In  the  spring  of  i860,  Barry  Sullivan,  the 

famous  Irish  tragedian,  came  to  St.  Louis. 
Before  him  came  his  reputation  as  an  over- 
bearing, autocratic  actor,  of  brilliant  and 
eccentric  gifts,  who  carried  delight  to  his 
audience,  but  terror  behind  the  scenes.  But 
the  kind  heartedness  of  his  race  and  his  own 
courtesy  made  him  gentleness  itself  to  the 
young  manager,  painfully  overwhelmed  by 
the  cares  of  her  situation.  Indeed,  Mr.  Sul- 
livan made  me  the  most  flattering  offer  to 
join  him  in  his  proposed  tour  through  Cali- 
fornia, Australia  and  the  English-speaking 
world  and,  though  this  was  declined,  I  be- 
lieve I  owe  to  his  kind  offices  when  he  left 
us   the    tender    that    was    made    me    of    an 

engagement 


Boston  Museum.  123 

engagement  at  the  Boston  Museum  by  Mr.  Engagement  at 
E.  F.  Reach.      Consider- theMuseumby 

Mr.  Keach. 

able  correspondence  had 
taken  place,  terms  and 
conditions  were  arranged 
when,  in  consequence  of  a 
misunderstanding  on  my 
part,  everything  came 
near  falling  through.  Because  Mr.  Keach 
was  in  Philadelphia  managing  a  theatre  dur- 
ing my  epistolary  knowledge  of  him,  I  located  A  misunder- 
the  engagement  he  offered  there  and,  being 
a  stranger  to  Boston,  when  I  found  it  was 
for  "the  Museum"  the  title  startled  me  on 
account  of  its  association  with  places  of 
similar  names  where  the  dramatic  standard 
was  not  high,  so  that  I  ended  by  sending  a 
refusal  in  a  tone  of  sincere  regret,  and  went 
to  sleep  satisfied  with  the  wisdom  of  my 
decision.  At  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning  Avoicecallsme 
I  awoke  with  a  startlingly  distinct  impression  to  Boston. 
of  a  voice  in  my  ear  which  said,  "  Go  to  Bos- 
ton, "  so  potent  that  I  reversed  my  decision 
and  dispatched  a  message  to  Mr.  Keach  then 
and  there:  "Accept  your  offer  for  the  sea- 
son at  the  Boston  Museum.  Don't  mind 
letter."  It  was  an  auspicious  voice,  for  it 
led  me  to  fellowship  with  a  company  of 
excellent  actors,  governed    by  an  admirable 

manager, 


124 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Home  and 
friends. 


Mr.  Kimball 
gives  me  a 

chart. 


manager,  to  my  present  home  and  some  of 
the  truest,  dearest,  best  of  friends. 

I  have  a  kind  memory  of  my  first  meeting 
with  Mr.  Moses  Kimball,  who  was  much 
about  the  Museum,  of  which,  together  with 
his  brother,  he  was  then  the  owner  and,  in 
his  greeting,  asked  if  I  had  seen  anything  of 
Boston.  I  told  him  I  really  did  not  know 
what  I  had  seen,  for  the  streets  were  so 
crooked  that,  if  I  started  out  for  a  long  walk, 
I  often  brought  up  at  my  own  door  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  if  I  attempted  to  go  straight  to 
the  Museum  I  lost  myself  for  an  hour  or  two. 
Mr.  Kimball  laughingly  took  a  card  and 
made  a  chart  of  the  streets  in  my  course  ; 
which,  absurd  as  it  may  seem  to  those  who 
have  a  bump  of  locality,  was  referred  to  as  a 
guide  for  weeks. 

Writers  of  sensational  literature  love  to 
draw  highly  colored  pictures  of  "behind  the 
scenes."  Let  me  describe  the  charmed  pre- 
cinct and  its  conditions  as  they  existed  in 
the  Museum  when  I  first  entered  its  service ; 
very  little  changed  now,  very  little  different 
in  any  American  theatre.  Its  life  is  not  the 
wonderful  stroller's  romance  of  Wilhelm 
Meister.  Nay!  Rather  as  commonplace  a 
dr'.ni"1.0/^1  e  routine  as  that  of  the  loom  or  the  counter. 
Of  course,  from  all  this  monotony  blossoms 

the 


Behind  the 
scenes. 


drudgery. 


Boston  Museum.  12$ 

the  play  of  fancy,  the  music  of  beautiful  Ian- Pleasure  of 
guage,  the  joy  of  interpretation,  forgetfulness  actin£- 
in  a  sublime  thought,  the  sympathy  of  the 
heart  of  a  great  audience ;  but  I  would  say 
most  emphatically  that,  except  for  this  artis- 
tic intoxication,  which  is  wholly  impersonal, 
the  stage  in  my  time  was  a  clingy,  sordid 
workshop,    where    there    was    infinitely   less  Reasons  why  a 

.  •  <-  .1  staije  life  offers 

temptation  for  young  women  than  in  any  fe%%rteinpta. 
breadwinning  career  whatever,  since  a  right  tions. 
minded  girl  could  not  help  living  up  to  a 
higher  and  better  standard  in  her  endeavor  to 
understand  the  words  she  spoke,  educating 
herself  for  the  demands  they  made  upon  her. 
Beyond  all  this,  even  if  she  were  not  of  very 
strong  principles  ;  as  Dr.  Watts  says  Satan 
himself  is  looking  out  only  for  idle  hands  to 
do  his  mischief,  these  were  not  found  be- 
hind the  scenes  of  the  Museum. 

We  entered  by  a  narrow  door  from  one  of  The  stage  door, 
the  galleries,  which  gave  at  a  touch,  but  fell 
back  as  quickly  with  the  force  of  a  ponderous 
spring.  A  doorkeeper,  seated  at  the  end  of 
a  narrow  aisle  some  three  feet  wide  between 
enormous  piles  of  dusty  canvas,  permitted 
none  to  pass  except  the  actual  employees  of 
the  theatre.  About  the  same  space  between 
the  inner  edge  of  the  scenery  standing  in  its 
grooves  and    the  masses  stacked    along  the 

walls, 


126 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Narrow  ways. 


Difficulty  of 
motion. 


Tight  squeez- 
ing 


walls,  allowed  a  scant  passage,  down  the 
side  of  the  stage.  At  one  corner,  where  the 
private  box  is  now,  was  a  "property  room," 
behind  that  the  manager's  office ;  on  the 
opposite  side,  a  small  space  of,  perhaps  six 
feet  wide  at  one  end  tapering  down  to  four  at 
the  other,  was  the  green  room,  its  furniture 
a  bench  about  the  wall,  a  cast  case,  a  diction- 
ary and  a  mirror,  over  which  was  inscribed 
"Trifles  make  perfection."  To  move  about, 
except  warily,  on  business,  was  at  any  time 
difficult ;  at  night,  when  carpenters  and  scene 
shifters  were  active,  a  veritable  running  the 
gauntlet.  Two  dressing  rooms  in  the  place 
of  the  two  upper  boxes  were  approached 
by  stair-cases  as  steep  as  ladders,  and 
these  were  assigned  the  "leading"  man  and 
woman.  The  others  had  little  "bins"  under 
the  stage,  and  crowded  as  closely  by  the 
machinery  of  the  "traps"  and  other  sub- 
terranean contrivances  as  the  space  above. 
Well  was  it  for  us  if  we  failed  to  stumble 
over  "set"  pieces  and  properties.  I  think 
all  that  saved  me  from  many  a  severe  fall 
was  the  caution  inspired  by  the  fear  of 
spoiling  fine  clothes.  I  remember,  with  pain- 
ful distinctness,  my  injured  feelings  when, 
squeezing  through  a  tight  place,  I  heard  my 
satin  "fray"  as  it  brushed  the  rough  edges 

of 


Boston  Museum.  127 

cf  the  scenes,  or  in  a  hurried  entrance  felt 
the  obnoxious  nail  that  caught  my  lace 
flounce,  while  I  had  to  go  straight  on,  what- 
ever stayed  behind ;  for  the  stage  must  not 
wait ! 

A  hasty  glance  at  the  "call"  in  the  green  The intervaisoi 
room  for  the  coming  plays,  a  word  of  cour-  actins- 
teous  greeting  for  our  fellow-actors,  the  last 
conning  of  the  part ;  such  were  the  interludes 
between  the  appearances  on  the  stage,  and 
a  more  work-a-day,  matter-of-fact  place  it 
would  be  hard  to  find. 

That  zealous  manager,  Mr.  E.  F.  Reach, 
placed  the  Boston  Museum  stage  and  com-  ^Museum ' 
pany  in  full  and  complete  equipment  as  a 
first-rate  theatre  from  being  something  of  a 
mere  adjunct  to  the  wax  figures  and  the 
curiosities,  which  good  people  frequented 
who  were  afraid  of  the  very  name  of  theatre. 
He  began  his  season  of  i860  and  1861  with 
a  round  of  the  "old  comedies." 

I   can  never  forget  the  overwhelming  im-wmiam  war- 
pression  William   Warren  made  upon  me  in ren- 
these  classic  plays,  though  he  had  such  co- 
operation as  that  of  Mr.  W.  H.  Smith,  Mrs. 
Vi)iccnt,  Keach,  Ring,   Whitman,  J.  A.  Smith 
and  others.     Familiar  with  the  Sir  Harcourt 
Courtly  of    William  Rnfns  Blake,  regarded  His  sir  Har- 
through  the  country  as  its  typical  representa-couuCourtly' 

tive, 


128  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

sir  Peter  Tea-  tive,  while  Mr.  Warren's  fame,  by  his  own 
choice,  was  chiefly  local,  I  found  his  perform- 
ance unsurpassed  and  unsurpassable;  and, 
greater  yet,  his  Sir  Peter  Teazle,  with  all 
its  delicacy,  feeling,  humor,  exquisite  refine- 
ment and  lofty  bearing.  Criticism  is  not  the 
object  of  these  lines,  but  a  fellow  actor's  trib- 
ute means  something,  and  mine  was  unfeign- 
edly  paid  to  this  wonderful  creation  night 
after  night,  all  by  myself,  as  I  listened  be- 

a  feiiow  actor's  hind  the  screen  to  his  pathetic  provision  for 
me;  blinking  back  the  tears  in  fear  of  red 
eyes  and  nose  under  my  white  wig ! 

Oh !  the  pity  of  it,  never  to  hear  again  the 
broken,  quavering,  gentle  voice, — "If  I  were 
to  die  she  will  find  I  have  not  been  inatten- 
tive to  her  interests  while  living!" 

Rachel's  criti-       Rachel  may  well  have  exclaimed  of    Wil- 

cism  of  Warren.   r-  TTr  ,,tt         •  r  >j        --r-i   • 

ham  Warren'.  He  is  one  01  us.  This 
great  artist  belonged  to  the  best  French 
school,  as  can  hardly  be  said  of  any  living 
English-speaking  actor  beside.  The  fine  art, 
the  fruition  of  study,  the  faithfulness  in 
detail,  all  were  there.  There  were  no  sketchy 
bits,  to  be  varied  night  after  night,  as  in- 
spiration might  suggest  or  humor  dictate. 

It  is  said  that  the  hardship  of  the  actor 
lies  in  the  fact  that  his  work  is  all  done  be- 
fore the  public  eye,  so  that  if  he  has  to  feel 

his 


Boston  Museum.  I2g 

his  way  in  his  part,  or  is  out  of  his  depth, 
he  must  struggle  on  in  the  full  glare  of 
criticism. 

Mr.   Warren  was  often,  in  the  exigencies  of  Mr.  Warren's 

.,  ,     ,  i  ,1  j  treatment  of  in- 

the  cast,  required  to  play  unworthy  and  cer-  ferior  parts> 
tainly  unsympathetic  parts.  But  it  was 
always  the  same ;  the  creation  was  complete, 
uniform,  and  fulfilled  to  its  absolute  possi- 
bilities, the  work  of  time  and  study,  not  of 
the  moment.  Many  actors,  and  some  of  the 
most  admired,  will  turn  about,  even  from  an 
heroic  declamation,  make  wry  faces  or  play 
tricks  to  disturb  the  equanimity  of  their 
fellows,  and  many  more  will  enter  the  side 
scenes  with  an  instantaneous  transformation 
to  their  own  personalities.  But  Mr.  Warren 
seemed  to  put  on  his  character  with  his  dress.  Accuracy  of 
Scrupulously  particular  in  speaking  thestudy- 
author's  own  words,  he  was  seldom  seen 
reading  a  part ;  in  fact  I  have  known  him  to 
receive  a  long  Madison  Morton  farce  over 
night  and  recite  it  at  rehearsal  the  next 
morning   without    prompting. 

Perhaps  the  very  perfection  of  his  own  work 
may  have  made  him  the  more  patient  with  the 
short-comings  of  others.  Certain  it  is,  in  five 
years  of  daily  intercourse  and  co-labor  I  never 
heard  from  him  an  unkind  or  impatient  word 
at  any  fault  of  another.     There  could  hardly 

be 


IJO  Yesterdays     zvith  Actors. 

be  a  severer  test  of  temper  and  manners  than 
The  innocent    tne   accidents    of  a  theatre.     The  man  who 

blamed  for  the  .  ,, 

guilty.  "sticks     seldom  appears  to  the  audience  to 

be  the  offender,  but  the  one  who  must  wait 
for  his  cue.  The  scene  shifter  or  the  car- 
penter or  the  property  man  may  blunder,  but 
the  sin  is  visited  upon  the  actor.  So  there 
is  often  a  sharp  rebuke,  couched  in  strong 
words,  behind  the  scenes.  Satisfied  with  the 
conscientious  performance  of  his  own  duty, 
he  left  others  to  do  theirs  or  not  as  they 
might,  and  avoided  comment  or  reproach. 
No  minister  of  state  nor  learned  judge 
could  have  moved  among  his  peers  with  more 

Mr  warren's   dignity,  delicacy  and  reserve  than     William 

dignity.  Warren  in  the  bustling,  busy  throng  of  the 

little  world  behind  the  scenes. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  imply  that  there 
was  the  least  withdrawal  from  the  sympathy 
of  his  brethren.     Born  of  actors'  blood  and 

profession!  ns  with  many  illustrious  ties  to  the  stage  which 
he  adorned,  he  had  that  pride  in  his  profession, 
and  that  quick  and  hearty  concern  in  every 
member  of  it,  small  or  great,  which  is  one  of 
its  most  honest  characteristics. 

It  is  well  known  how  difficult  it  was  before 
his  retirement  to  persuade  Mr.  Warren  to 
take   part  in  social   life.     The    innumerable 

efforts 


Boston  Museum.  IJI 

efforts  made  to  lure  him  into  various  parties 
of  pleasure  were  almost  invariably  baffled. 

"  Concentration  is  the  secret  of  strength.  Concentration 
Friends,  books,  pictures,  lower  duties,  talents,  st^^^ 
flatteries,  hopes  —  all  are  distractions  which 
cause  oscillations  in  our  giddy  balloon  and 
make  a  good  poise  and  a  straight  course  im- 
possible. You  must  elect  your  work.  You 
shall  take  what  your  brain  can  and  drop  all 
the  rest,"  says  Emerson,  and  he  quotes  in- 
stances in  the  lives  of  the  greatest  men  to 
prove  it.  It  was  because  Mr.  Warren  was 
an  actor  through  and  through,  and  would 
keep  his  energies  unfettered  for  his  great 
career,  that  he  lived  his  life  apart. 

But  what  the  stage  has  lost,  society  has  Mr.  warren  in 
gained  and  it  is  no  longer  an  impossible  pleas- socialhfe- 
ure  now  to  meet  the  fine  marked  face  and 
courtly  figure  in  drawing  room  and  dining 
room.  Filled  with  anecdote  and  witty  repar- 
tee, no  wonder  he  is  sought  out.  But  he 
remains  the  same  shrinking,  sensitive  man 
he  ever  was,  and  lionizing  will  not  harm  him, 
his  own  words  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 
I  saw  him  one  night  surrounded  by  a  bevy  of 
girls,  who,  in  their  aesthetic,  clinging  gowns 
and  admiring  attitudes,  could  not  but  remind 
me  of  the  maidens  in  Pinafore,  grouped  around 
Bunthorn,  and,  in  speaking  to  him  afterward, 

I 


IJ2  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

I    told    him    he    was  the  lion    of    the  night. 
"Ah!"  said   William   Warren,  "I  never  heard 

The  danger  of 

lionizing.          of  but  one  man  who  was  not  hurt  by  lionizing, 

and  he  was  a  Jew  by  the  name  of  Daniel !" 
Mr.  Vinton's         When  Mr.     Vinton  was   commissioned    to 
MnWarren'  °  paint  his  portrait  he  felt  there  was  some  bar- 
rier between  him  and  his  sitter  which  must 
be  broken  down  before  he  could  comprehend 
the  character  and  temperament  of    his  sub- 
ject, as  a  successful  artist  must  do.    Here,  he 
told  me,  he  felt  must  be  the  complex  mind, 
the  creator  of  half  a  century  of  living  pictures 
inspiring  and  controlling  the  features  he  was 
,   to  limn,  and  yet,  for  all  he  could  fathom,  only 
childlike  sim-   childlike  simplicity  revealed  itself.     How  was 
tor!lty°  '  edL  ne  to  penetrate  the  secret  and  know  the  man  ? 
Little  by  little  he  began  to  feel  that  it  was 
the  man  he  knew,  that  the  mimetic  art  had 
left  no  traces  on  the  spirit,  though  it  had  fur- 
rowed the  face  with  infinite  lines  of  expres- 
sion which  he  must  take  as  he  found  them, 
leaving  for   their  illumination  the  pure  and 
gentle  nature  he  had  discovered. 

It  was,  perhaps,  fortunate  that  the  com- 
mittee relinquished  the  proposed  scheme 
for  his  portrait  in  one  of  his  famous  charac- 
ters, to  give  to  his  townsfolk  and  friends  the 
likeness  which  Mr.    Vinton  has  painted  with 

The  sound,  true  .      r  ....  r       .  , 

gentleman.        such  force  and  inspiration  or  the  sound,  true 
gentleman,   William   Warren.  What 


Boston  Museum.  IJJ 

What  the  Museum  has  achieved  under  its 
present  manager,  Mr.  R.  M.  Field,  everybody  Mr.  Field's 
knows,  but  it  is  its  highest  praise  that  it  has  m 
developed      those     lines 
of    progress    which    the 
manager     of     the     past 
instituted,    with    greatly 
increased    facilities    and 
a     liberal      expenditure. 
Cramped   for  space  to  a 
degree  I  have  never  wit- 
nessed, the  equipment,  inadequate  for  a  first- 
class  theatre  (we  had  not  even  a  call  boy)  Mr. 
Keach  placed  the  establishment  in  the  front 
rank   and    the    Museum  productions    of    the 
Colleen  Bawn  and  Jeanie  Deans  would  have  Coiieen  Bawn 
been  creditable  to  any  stage.     He  killed  him-  ^J^"^. 
self  with  work,  for  he  had  an  unusually  ner-  duced  by  Mr. 
vous  temperament,  and    the  blade  wore  out 
the  scabbard    in    three  years.     I    remember 
his  characteristic  way  of  pulling  his  whiskers 
as    he    stood    directing   the    rehearsals    of   a 
new  play  until  the  left  side  grew  perceptibly 
thinner.     He  was  a  painstaking  actor,  and    I 
fancy  the  employment  was  an  actual  rest  in 
his  cares  as  a  manager.     Even  to  the   last, 
when  the  illness  that  slowly  undermined  his 
strength  left  him  so  weak  that  he  could  only 
get  up  the  theatre  stairs  by  the  help  of  the 

hand 


I 3 j.  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

hand  rail,  his  acting  lost  none  of  its  life  and 
spirit.  I  have  seen  him  come  off  the  stage 
Fainting  at  the  with  a  burst  of  laughter  which  his  part  re- 
suie scenes.  quired  and  fall  fainting  in  the  entrance  from 
sheer  exhaustion.  And  in  the  minuet  in  the 
Belle's  Strategem,  one  night  he  asked  me 
to  let  him  hold  my  hand  to  save  him  from 
falling.  This  whispered  appeal  was  the  more 
pathetic  since  I  knew  how  reluctantly  he 
turned  to  a  woman's  help,  like  any  other  of 
his  sex.  After  this  he  broke  through  a  nat- 
ural reserve,  told  me  of  his  proposed  jour- 
ney to  Baltimore,  and  how  he  hoped  it  might 
benefit  him,  because  he  wanted  to  come  back 
strong  enough  to  play  in  Rosedale.  He 
went  south,  but  returned  hurriedly  for  the 
rehearsal  of  Ticket-of-Leave-Man,  that  he 
might  not  be  anticipated  by  Mrs.  Barrow's 
Thedyingman- production  of  the  same  piece,  worse  for  the 
agerathispost  anxiety  and  the  fatigue  of  the  journey,  but 
again  at  his  post.  In  fact,  he  only  left  his 
work  a  week  before  his  death. 

Among  the  daring  successes  of  his  man- 
agement with  the  limited  conditions  at  his 
command,  my  Boston  readers  will  recall, 
besides    Jeanie    Deans   and    Colleen    Bawn, 

Museum  pro- 
ductions. The   Enchantress,   Pauvrette,  The   Angel  of 

Midnight,  Faust  and  Marguerite,  The  Octo- 
roon, and    many  others,  well    mounted    and 

generally 


Boston  Museum. 


US 


generally  well  cast.  The  company  was  re- 
enforced  by  special  engagements.  Mrs. 
Barrow,  in  the  first  season,  was  obtained 
for  the  part  of  Effie  Deans. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jacob  Bar-  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
row  were  here  familiar  and  Barrow- 
favorite  figures  in  their  re- 
spective spheres  for  many 
years.     She  led  that  bril- 
liant galaxy  which  illumi- 
nated the  Boston  Theatre 
in  its  opening  season.    He 
was  known  as  a   hospit- 
able   good    fellow,    who, 
with  many  ups  and  downs 
of    fortune    always    suc- 
ceeded   in  living    luxuri- 
ously.  After  the  Museum 
engagement,    they    tried 
their  fortunes  in  a  little 
theatre  which  Mrs.  Barroiv  established  in  the 
hall  opening  from  the  Music  Hall  entrance, 
but    it    had    a  short    and    disastrous    season. 
They  faded  away  from  the  scene,  and  finally 
returned    to    England.      Few  actresses  were 
ever  more  finished  and  satisfactory,  if  some- 
what  artificial,  than   Julia  Bennett  Barrow,  Viola  and 
and  she  was  a  graceful  and  beautiful  woman.      cron" 
The    exquisite    Obcron,    the   most    charming 

Viola 


Ij6  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Viola  lingered  on,  and  still,  I  believe,  lingers 
a  paralyzed  invalid. 

Miss   Batcvian,  as   she  afterwards  became 
Misa  Bateman.  ^^  in  English    fashion  ;  Miss 

Kate  Bateman,  in  the  more 

friendly  American    style, 

played  with  us.     She  was 

a  dear  good  girl,  pure  as 

a   lily,   and    as   fair,    but 

she    never    would     have 

achieved    her    wonderful 

success  without  the  absolute  admiration  for 

her  which  Papa  Bateman  felt  to  the  roots  of 

Mr.  Bateman's  his  being !     We  do  not  convert  others  unless 

ie  le  m  is  believe  ourselves,  and  if  to  family  affec- 

daughter.  J 

tion  there  is  united  a  sincere  admiration, 
it  is  very  certain  to  conquer.  So  Mahomet 
found  it  easy  to  overcome  the  world  when 
that  most  incredulous  element,  his  own 
family,  became  his  disciples.  Mr.  Bateman 
believed  his  daughter  to  be  the  greatest  ac- 
tress of  her  day,  and  in  his  intercourse  with 
the  leaders  of  public  opinion,  they  came  to 
a  patcmai  believe  so  too.  When  he  started  the  ap- 
ciaqueur.  plause,  his  great  hands  resounded  loudly  and 

his  face  expressed  the  sense  of  rousing  the 
audience  to  their  duty.  When  Evangeline 
slept  upon  the  stage,  while  the  moving  pano- 
rama behind  gave  the  effect  of  motion  to  the 

boat 


Boston  Museum.  ijy 

boat  upon  which  the  heroine  is  travelling,  as 

the    house  broke  into  applause  at  some  tri-  Applause  for 

,  c    .  ,  .     ,  •        , ,  •  the  panorama 

umphs  or  the  painter  in  the  passing  scene  taken  for Miss 
Papa  Bateman  saw  only  his  child,  and  with  a  Bateman. 
burst  of  joyous  enthusiasm,  he  turned  grate- 
fully to  an  applauding  neighbor  with,   "  No 
woman    can    sleep    upon    a    bench    like    my 
daughter,"   and    joined    with    all    his    might 
in  the  tribute  which  his  parental  solicitude 
interpreted  so  naively.     Ellen  and  Kate  Batc-EUenB3itemiXL 
man  had  been  infant  prodigies,  and  used  to 
play  the  Young  Couple  together  when  they 
were  four  and  six.     Marriage  early  lost  Ellen 
Bateman  to  the   stage,  and  it  was  a  serious 
loss,  for  she  had  very  brilliant  promise.     Her 
sister  lacked  her  power  and  sympathy,  but  she 
had  elegance  and  dignity  and  classic  beauty. 

People  talk  of  "stage  beauty"  as  though  it  stage  beauty 
were  something  coarser  and  less  rare  than  the  mubt  be  real" 
beauty  of  a  ballroom,  whereas  there  are  points 
of  outline,  motion,  expression  indispensable 
on  the  stage,  the  want  of  which  is  unnoticed 
in  a  room.  Many  actresses  use  paint  and 
pencil  as  though  shading  and  coloring  must 
be  enormously  exaggerated  for  stage  effect, 
but  a  theatre  is  full  of  opera  glasses,  and  the 
slight  touches  of  art  which  the  footlights  do 
require  must  be  used  as  delicately  as  the  not 
unknown  embellishments  of  a  woman  of  so- 
ciety. 


Ij8  Yesterdays  zvitli  Actors. 

Mistakes  in      ciety.     Even  in  Sarah  Bernhardt s  company 

making  up.  there  were  faces  that  looked  like  clowns,  and 
in  which  the  paint  disguised  the  expression 
like  a  mask.  Miss  Bateman  s  fair  loveliness 
would  have  been  still  more  admired  anywhere 
else,  and,  together  with  her  lifelong  training 
in  her  art,  won  her  not  pardon  only,  but  in- 
dulgence in  parts  far  above  her  real  power. 

There  are  many  strange  tales  of  mad  actors, 
perhaps  the  most    famous    that    which    Mrs. 

a  mad  Ophelia.  Bellamy  relates  of  one  who  having  been  a  cel- 
ebrated Ophelia,  eluded  her  attendants,  and, 
making  her  way  to  the  theatre,  forced  herself 
upon  the  stage  before  the  actress  playing  the 
character,  and  gave  the  mad  scene  with  horri- 
ble truthfulness,  to  the  amazement  of  the 
performers  as  well  as  the  audience.  I  have 
had  much  experience  with  these  afflicted  folk, 
though  never  any  more  painful  than  for  a  few 
hours    on    the    stage    of   the  Museum.     Mr. 

Mr.  Frank        Frank  Whitman  was  a  very  useful  member  of 

\\  hitman.  J 

the  company  —  the  Danny  Mann  of  the  Col- 
leen Bawn.  In  all  the  apparent  violence 
which  he  has  to  use  toward  his  victim  he  was 
careful  and  gentle.  Many  an  inferior  actor 
loses  his  head  and  in  the  excitement  of  such 
a    scene   gives    needless    bruises.       He   was 

His  courtesy.  .  .... 

always  delicately  courteous  to  me,  and  I  felt 
real  sorrow  when  tales  of  his  strange  words 

and 


Boston  Museum.  ijg 

and  actions  began  to  be  whispered  about  the 
theatre  and  his  companions  said  that  he  was 
"queer."  At  last  one  night  when  we  were 
playing  Jeanie  Deans,  it  was  suddenly  told  me  :  Madness  in  the 
"  Whitman  is  mad."  He  had  the  little  parttheatre- 
of  the  jailor.  In  the  scene  where  Jeanie 
visits  her  sister  Effie  in  prison  after  her  con- 
demnation, Mrs.  Barrow,  who  was  Effie, 
should  have  turned  away  from  me,  but  stood, 
instead,  looking  before  her  with  a  strained, 
astonished  expression,which  led  me  to  follow 
her  gaze.    There  was  poor  Mr.  Whitman,  down  .  . 

°  r  A  strange 

by  the  footlights,  combing  his  hair  with  a  scene, 
pocket  comb !  The  dull  face,  the  vacant 
stare  and  the  measured  action,  ludicrous  as 
the  situation  was,  only  called  forth  a  thrill  of 
horror.  A  long  silence  finally  aroused  the 
poor  fellow,  a  second  jailor  entered  and  coaxed 
him  off  the  stage.  The  same  evening  I  was 
told  his  regard  for  me  had  developed  into 
something  like  aversion. 

He  went  about  complaining  of  my  eyes  —  Dangorousdis. 
"they  snapped  at  him."  It  was  his  duty  to  p°sUi"n- 
arrest  my  sister,  and  if  my  eyes  "snapped  "  at 
him  when  he  did  it  as  they  had  done  the  night 
before,  he  had  a  pistol  and  meant  to  "put  her 
away."  Every  one  was  on  the  watch  to  secure 
the  pistol,  but  it  was  not  a  comfortable  per- 
formance.    His  friends,  it  seemed,  had  been 

aware 


IjO  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

aware  of  his  condition  but  had  hoped  it  would 
improve. 

He  never  came  to  the  theatre  again.  I 
was  told  that  the  next  day,  when  he  was  re- 
moved to  the  asylum,  he  thought  the  carriage 
had  come  to  take  him  thither,  and  he  wrap- 
ped himself  in  the  plaidie,  ready  for  the 
Scotch  play,  and  so  passed  to  the  "  last  scene 
of  all  that  ends  this  strange  eventful  history." 
John  wnkes  Another  madman  —  and  I  do  not  say  it  from 
Booth.  sentimental    charity,    but    from    the    distinct 

memory  of  that  sensation  which  the  near  ap- 
proach to  those  of  unhinged  minds  communi- 
cates —  was  John  1 1  Tilkes 
Booth,  a  star  or  a  comet 
of  the  Museum  season. 
It  is  my  earnest  belief 
that  if  there  was  ever  an 
irresponsible  person,  it 
was  this  sad-faced,  hand- 
some, passionate  boy.  As 
an  actor  he  had  more  of  the  native  fire  and 
fury  of  his  great  father  than  any  of  his  family, 
but  he  was  as  undisciplined  on  the  stage  as  off. 
When  he  fought,  it  was  no  stage  fight.  If  his 
Furious  stage  antagonist  did  not  strain  his  nerve  and  skill, 
he  would  either  be  forced  over  the  stage  into 
the  orchestra  as  happened,  I  believe,  once  or 
twice ;    or  cut    and    hurt,  as    almost  always 

happened. 


Boston  Museum.  141 

happened.  He  told  me  that  he  generally 
slept  smothered  in  steak  or  oysters  to  cure  his 
own  bruises  after  Richard  the  Third,  because 
he  necessarily  got  as  good  as  he  gave,  —  in 
fact  more,  for  though  an  excellent  swords- 
man, in  his  blind  passion  he  constantly  cut 
himself.  How  he  threw  me  about !  once 
even  knocked  me  down,  picking  me  up  again 
with  a  regret  as  quick  as  his  dramatic  impulse 
had  been  vehement.  In  Othello,  when,  with  otheiio's  rush 
fiery  remorse,  he  rushed  to  the  bed  of  Desde-atD"demona- 
mona  after  the  murder,  I  used  to  gather  my- 
self together  and  hold  my  breath,  lest  the 
bang  his  cimeter  gave  when  he  threw  him- 
self at  me  should  force  me  back  to  life  with 
a  shriek. 

The  sharp  dagger  seemed  so  dangerous  an 
implement  in  the  hands  of  such  a  desperado 
that  I  lent  him  my  own  —  a  spring  dagger,  with 
a  blunt  edge,  which  is  forced  back  into  its  han- 
dle if  it  is  actually  struck  against  an  object. 
In  the  last   scene  of  Romeo  and    Juliet,  one^!"agged 

J  Juliet. 

night,  I  vividly  recall  how  the  buttons  at  his 
cuff  caught  my  hair,  and  in  trying  to  tear 
them  out  he  trod  on  my  dress  and  rent  it  so 
as  to  make  it  utterly  useless  afterward;  and 
in  his  last  struggle  literally  shook  me  out  of 
my  shoes  !  The  curtain  fell  on  Romeo  with 
a   sprained  thumb,    a  good    deal  of   hair  on  Romeo. 

his 


I/j2  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

his  sleeve,  Juliet  in  rags  and  two  white  satin 
shoes  lying  in  the  corner  of  the  stage  ! 
Misfortunes  of  The  stage  door  was  always  blocked  with  silly 
Booth's  career  women  waiting  to  catch  a  glimpse,  as  he 
passed,  of  his  superb  face  and  figure.  He 
was  ever  spoiled  and  petted,  and  left  to  his 
unrestrained  will.  He  succeeded  in  gaining 
position  by  flashes  of  genius,  and  the  neces- 
sity of  ordinary  study  had  not  been  borne  in 
upon  him.  No  life  could  have  been  worse 
for  such  a  character  than  that  of  an  actor.  It 
is  doubtful  if  aught  could  have  counter- 
acted the  effects  of  inheritance  and  the  lack 
of  early  education  ;  but,  even  if  crime  had 
been  their  outcome,  it  would,  under  other 
conditions,  have  hardly  taken  the  vain  form 
of  his  awful  deed,  with  the  mock  heroism  of 
its  "  Sic  semper  tyrannis"  and  its  tawdry 
tragedy. 


CHAPTER 


CHAPTER    VIII. 


Boston  Museum,  continued. 


THERE  are  some  people  who  can  never  grow  Grown  up 
old.     Their  years  may  number  fourscore,  but01 
they  are  possessed  of  an  innocent  freshness, 
a  true   guilelessness  that  they  have  brought 
straight  through  from  childhood.     They  know 
themselves    to   be  true  and    cannot  mistrust 
another  ;   contact  with  the  world  has  not  made 
them  worldly.     They  have  trodden  the  beaten 
path  with  the  rest  of  us,  and  escaped  defile- 
ment,—  for  the  fault  is  in  our  own  coat  if  it  at- 
tract the  burrs.     One  of  these  rare  people  is 
Mrs.    Vincent.     Nobody    has    anything   but  Mrs.  Vincent, 
good  to  say  of  her,  unless 
it      be     those      devoted 
friends  who  have  consti- 
tuted      themselves     her 
guardians,  to  take  care  of 
her  money,  so  that  she 
may    not    spend     every 
penny  she  earns.    One  of 

these 


Ij^.  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

a  faitiiiui  these  faithful  wardens  was  promptly  on  hand 
after  her  semi-centennial  benefit  in  1886, 
and  politely  accompanied  her  to  the  box 
office,  where  he  pocketed  the  receipts,  and 
left  her  to  sign  for  the  same.  "  All  right, 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Vincent,  "  but  don't  invest  it 
all ;  I  want  a  trifle  for  myself,"  and  she  was 
provided  for  accordingly,  as  in  the  after  part 
of  the  day  the  good  friend  again  made  his  ap- 
pearance. "You  said  you  wanted  a  trifle; 
here  it  is.  I  banked  the  even  dollars  and 
brought  you  the  odd  cents."  Well  he  knew  if 
she  once  laid  her  hands  on  that  money  the 
order  of  things  would  be  reversed.  The  bank 
might  have  had  the  cents,  but  every  dollar 
would  be  spent  on  rent  for  the  homeless, 
shoes  and  stockings  for  the  cold,  and  Thanks- 

Where  her 

money  goes,  giving  cheer  for  those  that  could  not  buy  it 
for  themselves  —  not  to  speak  of  the  "  merry 
Christmas  "  for  every  child  she  knew.  The 
girls  get  everything  they  can  think  of,  and 
the  boys  everything —  and  more  too,  because 
she  does  "  love  boys  so." 

OurfriendMrs.  It  is  not  as  an  actress  Mrs.  Vincent  is 
loved  in  Boston.  No  one  thinks  of  her  as 
this  character  or  that,  however  well  she  may 
play  it.  It's  not  Sheelah,  with  her  huge  mob 
cap  and  Irish  brogue — it's  Mrs.  Vincent  the 

children 


Vincent. 


Boston  Museum.  145 

children  laugh  at  when  she  runs  round  with 

the  tea  kettle  spilling  the  "  hot  wather"  as  she 

goes.     She  is  the  children's  friend  and  they  Mrs.  Vincent' ; 

are  hers.     As  with  the  young,  so  with  the  old. earIy  career- 

But  her  dramatic  career  has  been  success- 
ful and  laborious.  She  played  the  nurse  in 
Romeo  and  Juliet  at  sixteen  years  of  age,  and 
as  an  actress,  Mr.  Forrest  paid  her  one  of  the 
greatest  compliments  when  he  sent  for  her  to 
take  the  "  call  "  with  Pauline  and  Claude  after 
the  fourth  act  of  the  Lady  of  Lyons.  To 
this  unheard  of  request  the  Widow  Melnotte 
modestly  demurred,  but  Mr.  Forrest  gruffly  Mr.  Forrest's 
replied  :  "  It's  as  much  for  you  as  for  us, endorsement- 
madam." 

I  began  by  saying  I  knew  nothing  but  good 
of  her,  and  there  are  not  a  few  who  will  say 
the  same.  The  first  revelation  to  me  of  her 
kind  heart  was,  in  finding  hot  coffee  brought 
to  her  every  night  after  the  performance, 
which  she  drank,  I  discovered,  to  keep  her 
awake  for  a  sick  room  where  a  man  and 
his  wife  were  both  dying.  Nurses  were  not 
then  so  easy  to  come  by  as  now,  and  there  was  Akindnurse- 
a  bitter  prejudice  in  the  minds  of  some  peo- 
ple, who  thought  only  of  Sairey  Gamp  when 
they  were  mentioned,  so  for  these  poor 
souls  who  had  known  better   days   and  fallen 

—  oh! 


146 


Yesterdays  ivitJi  Actors. 


A  disobedient 
patient. 


The  benefit  of 
j) ills  in  a 
drawer. 


—  oh  !  the  sorrows  of  all  such  —  Mrs.  Vin- 
cent gave  up  her  rest,  as  long  as  they  needed 
a  loving  presence  in  the  dark  hours  from 
twelve  until  seven,  making  day,  not  night, 
out  of  the  dreaded  gloom.  It  need  hardly 
be  said  that  she  too  provided,  either 
in  money  or  interest  for  doctors  and  medi- 
cine and  every  comfort.  Has  she  forgotten 
those  three  weeks?  I  have  never  heard 
her  mention  them.  Mrs.  Vincent  herself 
has  the  greatest  confidence  in  medical 
men,  the  most  sincere  regard  for  their 
opinions,  and  never  fails  to  send  for  them  at 
the  proper  times.  She  gets  their  prescrip- 
tions immediately  made  up,  but  never  takes 
them,  having  a  simple  horror  of  medicine  as 
applied  to  her  own  system.  Not  long  ago 
she  was  expressing  herself  in  grateful  terms 
to  the  doctor  who  had  been  with  her  through 
rather  a  critical  period  and  knew  her  peculi- 
arity. In  perfect  earnestness,  she  turned  to 
her  friends,  saying;  "The  pain  has  nearly 
gone.  It  was  those  pills  of  his.  Oh  !  if  you 
ever  have  such  an  attack,  do  just  try  them." 
"You  did  take  them,  then?"  said  the  doubt- 
ing ^Esculapius.  "  Doctor  dear,"  whispered 
the  patient,  "  no  I  did  not  really  take  them, 
but  I  put  the  pills  in  my  upper  drawer,  and 
they  did  do  me  a  world  of  good."  In 


Boston  Muse itin.  /-// 

In  her  own  home,  Mrs.  Vincent  was  ever  the  Mrs-  Vincent 

...  t^  .  .      .  at  home. 

soul  of  hospitality.  Every  stranger  she  shakes 
by  the  hand  is  made  welcome  there,  and 
to  some  that  home  has  proved  a  blessed  re- 
treat. One  young  seamstress  who  worked 
for  me  I  may  cite.  She  was  very  delicate, 
unfit  for  constant  application,  in  need  of  better 
food  and  a  physician's  care.  Mrs.  Vincent 
had  her  for  a  day's  sewing,  and  a  year  after- 
ward she  was  still  there,  rent  free,  with  plenty 
of  nourishment,  a  doctor,  who  kindly  visited 
her,  out  of  regard  for  the  hostess,  who  refused 
to  let  the  young  seamstress  work  more  than  a 
part  of  the  time,  though  she  paid  her  for  all. 
The  care  taken  of  her  and  the  freedom  from 
anxiety  had  cured  the  dying  girl. 

This  home  was  filled  with  dumb  friends  too,  a  family  of 
sumptuously  fed  and  tended.  The  family  ofca 
black  cats  was  a  wonderful  group  of  feline 
beauty.  A  visitor  to  Mrs.  Vincent  of  a  ner- 
vous temperament,  one  of  those  who  cannot 
abide  that  "  harmless  necessary"  animal,  had 
a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  in  awaiting  her  in 
the  parlor  one  day.  The  room  was  dark  and 
the  house  quiet.  After  a  little  space,  the 
door  was  pushed  stealthily  open,  and  a  great 
glossy  black  puss,  with  tail  erect  and  gleam- 
ing eyes,  slowly  entered.     After  a  minute,  a 

second 


Ij.8  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

second  followed  the  first,  with  bushy  tail,  red 
eyes  and  bristling  fur,  then  another,  and 
another,  and  another,  until  there  were  five  ! 
They  drew  closer,  circling  round  the  victim, 
with  tails  now  switching  with  emotion,  their 
eager  looks  flashing  fire,  while  she  sat  para- 
lyzed with  terror  in  the  midst.  It  was  a  great 
relief  when  the  hostess  bustled  in,  calling 
"  William  Warren,"  "  Smithy,"  and  so  on,  for 
all  had  the  names  of  the  principal  members  of 
the  Museum  company,  and  the  animals  were 
driven  out  of  the  room.  No,  not  driven.  No- 
blesse oblige  !  William  Warren,  a  majestic 
a  dignified  old  fellow,  as  dignified  as  his  sponsor,  stalked 
out  of  the  door,  followed  one  by  one  by  his 
comrades,  as  they  had  entered.  Another  pet 
of  Mrs.  Vincent 's  was  a  tiny  black-and-tan 
dog  that  a  friend  had  given  her.  This,  of 
course,  demanded  all  the  care  of  a  child,  and 
it  had  it.  Her  great  love  for  Dot  and  the 
creature's  dependence  upon  her  were  not 
thrown  away  upon  the  quick-witted  boys  of 
the  West  end.  There  came  a  time  when  this 
pet  was  always  getting  lost,  in  spite  of  her 
mistress's  vigilance.  She  could  not  put  it 
out  of  her  hand  to  trot  by  her  side  for  a  min- 
ute but  it  was  gone.  If  she  sat  down  on  the 
Common  with  Dot  sporting  around  her  feet 

for 


exit 


A  pet  dog  and 


Boston  Museum.  Ij.g 

for  exercise,  while  she  turned  to  look  ad- 
miringly at  a  baby  carriage,  the  dog  was  no- 
where to  be  seen.  Even  from  her  own  door- 
step it  disappeared.  The  first  time  a  reward  Rewards  have 
of  five  dollars  was  offered,  and  paid  so  gladly, 
with  such  tearful  recognition  of  the  comfort 
that  had  betm  restored,  that  Dot  was  found 
missing  again  within  the  week,  and  this 
time  five  dollars  brought  no  response.  She 
raised  it  to  ten  dollars.  Dot  was  brought 
home  sick  with  fretting.  Double  watchfulness 
was  observed  by  the  mistress,  and  Dot  on  her 
part  seemed  suspicious  of  every  one  else,  and 
.more  than  ever  an  inseparable  part  of  her  best 
friend,  but  she  went  all  the  same,  and  as  the 
bereaved  owner  thought  of  their  last  parting, 
she  grieved  for  the  animal  more  than  for  her- 
self, and  resolved  on  a  quick  return.  "  She'll 
ruin  me,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Vincent,  "  but  I  shall 
die  without  the  dear  little  thing;  she  loves 
me  so,  and  is  such  a  blessing;"  so  this  time 
Dot  was  advertised  at  fifteen  dollars,  and  so 
on  to  the  end  of  the  chapter.  Fortunately, 
that  dog  did  not  live  to  be  very  old,  or  even 
the  watchful  guardians  could  not  have  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  a  bank  account  for  her 
owner. 

Mr.  KeacJi  was  a  most  autocratic  manager. 

He 


1^0  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Air.  Keach  an    He    made    no    concessions,  "suffered    no   in- 

arbritrary  c  .  r  .  . 

manager.  inngement  of  rules ;  always  nervous  and 
prompt  himself,  he  demanded  absolute  obe- 
dience to  orders  in  others  and  this  came  hard 
all  round,  under  the  circumstances.  Not  only- 
had  some  members  of  the  company  been 
under  a  very  easy  rein  during  the  previous 
management,  but  associated  as  fellow  actors 
with  Mr.  KeacJi  himself,  who  had  formerly 
liked  a  joke  as  well  as  anybody.  They  did 
not  approve  of  the  martinet  rule,  and  there 
was  a  slight  threatening  of  general  rebellion 
in  the  camp,  which  made  Mr.  Keach  only  the 
more  irascible.     All  this  did    not   affect   me,. 

No  "can boy."  but  the  want  of  a  "  call  boy  "  did.  This  was 
my  special  grievance.  I  never  had  elsewhere 
to  look  out  for  my  own  entrances,  and  with 
every  desire  to  be  correct  for  my  own  sake,  I 
could  not  in  a  hurried  change  of  dress  make 
speed,  and  be  listening  to  the  words  on  the 
stage  at  the  same  time.  Moreover,  between 
the  acts  even  —  up  went  the  curtain  when 
Mr.  Keach  saw  the  stage  ready  :  not  "  a  call  " 
nor  word  of  warning  for  those  concerned. 
This  I  really  resented,  since  it  was  without 
precedent.  I  had  just  left  Dion  Boucicault 
in  New  York,  who  had  shown  me  every  cour- 
tesy and  ordered  the  call  to  be  made  at  my 

dressing 


Boston  Museum.  iji 

dressing  room  for  every  entrance,  so  that  Mr.  Anguish  of  a 
Keacti s  system  seemed  most  arbitrary  andst; 
ungracious.  It  was  a  terrible  sensation  to 
hear  "  Stage  waiting  !"  and  then  find  a  flight  of 
stairs  between  you  and  your  entrance.  One 
night  they  told  me  the  "  wait "  was  five  minutes, 
and  I  only  wonder  I  ever  went  on  at  all,  for  I 
was  so  frightened  that  I  felt  like  running  off 
and  out  of  the  building  rather  than  on  to  face 
a  strange  audience  who  only  saw  the  error 
without  understanding  the  cause.  I  told  my 
unrelenting  manager  it  was  a  gross  injustice, 
not  to  me  only  but  the  public,  and  begged, 
sooner  than  suffer  the  same  risk  again,  I 
might  be  allowed  to  pay  for  the  extra  service, 
but  it  was  denied.  Mr.  Keach  did  finally  in- 
troduce the  common  usage  of  his  own  motion 
the  next  season.  It  was  purely  accidental, 
therefore,  one  afternoon  when  the  time  came 
for  the  ringing  up  of  the  curtain  that  it  was 
discovered  Mrs.   I  'intent  had  not  arrived.    As  Mrs.  Vincent 

i  i  i         •       ,,  missing-. 

she  was  to  appear  early  m  the  piece,  mes- 
sengers were  dispatched  to  explore  '  the 
neighborhood.  She  was  found  on  the  corner 
of  Tremont  Row  and  Pembcrton  Square,  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd,  haranguing  a  teamster 
who  was  driving  a  lame  horse.  Her  fervent 
denunciations,  pointed  by  her  umbrella,  were 

scarcely 


I$2  Yesterdays  witJi  Actors. 

a  icctme  on      scarcely  to  be  interrupted  by  the  urgent  re- 

crueltv  to  . 

animals.  minder  that  the  stage  was  waiting.     As  she 

was  dragged  away  and  hurried  up  the  stairs 
of  the  Museum,  we  heard  her  panting  for 
breath  and  brokenly  exciaiming  in  anything 
but  a  tone  of  penitence  :  "  Well,  I  don't  care 
if  the  stage  is  waiting,  and  I  don't  care  for 
Mr.  Reach  nor  twenty  like  him.  I  won't  see  a 
brute  driving  a  horse  on  three  legs  without 
speaking  my  mind." 

Mr.  Reach's  ^n    turning    from  my    memories    of    Mr. 

seif-possession.  Reach's  management,  I  recall  an  incident 
illustrating  his  courage  and  self-possess- 
sion.  I  was  dressing  one  night  for  The 
Jealous  Wife  in  my  little  room  above  the 
stage  about  an  hour  before  the  play  began, 
when  in  the  stillness  fand  it  always  seemed 
to  me  there  is  nothing  so  still  as  a  silent 
theatre)  I  heard  a  man  coming  up  the  stairs 
in  strange  haste.  Of  course,  one  grows  to 
know  all  everyday  sounds,  and  this  startled 
me;  it  was  unusual.  I  called  out:  "What's 
the 'matter?"  There  was  no  reply,  but  the 
flying  feet  still  ascended,  and  I  flung  open  my 
door.     The  draught  brought  a  forked  flame 

Fire.  literally  down  the  stairway  into  my  face.   As  I 

learned  afterward,  while  the  "  border  lights," 
were  being  lighted,  which  is  done  with  the  aid 

of 


Boston  Museum.  i^j 

of  a  long  pole  from  the  stage ;  the  current 
of  air,  purposely  made  as  great  as  possible  to 
cool  off  the  building,  blew  one  of  these  same 
"  borders  "  into  the  gas.  I  could  not  exagger- 
ate the  rapidity  with  which  the  flames  spread,  The  rapid 
and  it  can  only  be  realized  by  remember-  ^mes  ° 
ing  the  inflammable  substances  with  which 
a  stage  is  filled  —  the  heated  wood,  the  dry 
canvas  that  has  been  soaked  in  turpentine, 
the  straight  surfaces  which  the  flames  lick 
up  and  across  without  let  or  hindrance.  In 
less  time  than  I  am  telling  it,  and,  before  I 
could  assume  presentable  clothing,  every- 
thing looked  ablaze,  as  indeed  it  was,  for 
from  the  borders  the  "wings"  had  caught. 
In  dressing  sack  and  dishevelled  hair,  I  flew 
to  the  stage.  There  was  Mr.  Reach  summon-  Energetic 
ing  his  forces  as  if  by  magic.  At  his  word  measures- 
of  command  the  pump  was  at  work,  the  hose 
playing  upon  the  flames  —  men  on  ladders 
handing  buckets  to  those  above,  who  cut  the 
ropes  and  let  drop  the  burning  canvas  and  tim- 
ber, while  in  the  centre  of  all,  as  it  seemed, 
literally  enveloped  in  flame  and  drenched  with 
water,  stood  the  "  Captain,"  never  seen  to  so  The  captain, 
much  advantage  as  in  this  hour  of  real  danger, 
never  so  thoughtful  for  others  that  they 
might  not  be   injured  by  the  falling  pieces, 

never 


75-/  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

never  so  calm  as  when,  almost  before  the 
flames  were  really  out,  he  turned  to  give  the 
order  that  "  no  danger  "  was  to  be  reported  in 
the  galleries,  whither  the  audience  had  re- 
tired. The  musicians  had  brought  their  in- 
struments, and  all  crowded  about  the  door  of 
egress,  but  not  a  soul  left  the  building.  Mr. 
Keach  stood  fearlessly ;  his  men  worked 
bravely.  They  promptly  obeyed  every  order, 
and  in  the  well  appointed  theatre  everything 
was  in  working  order  for  the  crisis.  The 
lookers  on,  though  ready  for  flight,  gathered 
presence  of  mind  from  the  example  on  the 
stage,  and  stood  quietly  waiting.  Before  the 
smoke  had    cleared   away  the  orchestra  was 

Thepiaypro-  ordered  "  in."  To  the  question  "Is  there  to 
be  a  performance?"  the  answer  "  Certainly  !  " 
was  snapped  back  sharply,  and  fifteen  minutes 
after  the  regular  time  the  stage  had  been 
mopped  up,  a  carpet  put  down,  which,  though 
it  hid  the  wet  to  the  eye,  left  it  so  moist  that  I 
put  on  rubbers  over  a  pair  of  pink  silk  boots. 
The  scenery  was  streaked  with  water  too,  the 
furniture  soaked,  and  the  place  so  cold  and 
damp,  that  in  spite  of  being  wrapped  up  in 
shawls  and  opera  cloaks,  we  were  coughing 
and   sneezing  for   the    next  week.      But  we 

An  animated     jjj    play  the   comedy.      Everybody  was  in- 

performance. 

spired 


Boston  Museum. 


155 


spired  to  make  additional  effort,  and  the 
audience  was  in  the  best  and  most  appre- 
ciative of  humors.  I  question  if,  without 
the  promptness,  resource  and  exertion  of 
Mr.  Keach,  the  Museum  would  not  have 
been  burned  to  the  ground,  like  many  other 
theatres  where  a  similar  accident  has  occurred, 
with  great  loss  of  property,  if  not  of  life. 

The  elder  Wallack  told  Mr.  Keach  in  the 
latter's  second  season,  when  the  company  was 
largely  re-enforced,  that,  while  its  men  were 
good,  its  galaxy  of  female  attraction  could  not 
be  equalled  in  his  own  or  any  other  company. 
Certainly  it  would    have  been   hard    to  find  F.our beautiful 
four  girls  more  beautiful 
and  clever  than  Josephine 
Orton,  Annie  Clarke,  Ori- 
ana  A  Tars  hall  and  Lizzie 
Baker.       Of   the    two    of 
these  who  are  "  actors  of 
yesterday,"    Oriaua   Mar- 
shall   died    at    seventeen 
years  of  age,  and  Miss  Orton  unfortunately, 
lives  in  retirement.      She 
was  an  immense  favorite 
in   Boston    and   Philadel-  orton    CP  ' 
phia,    and    made    a    tour 
through  the  country  with 
the    Warren  combination, 
winning 


Miss  Oriana 

Marshall. 


i56 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


A  true  artist. 


An  evening 

the  Howard 
Athenaeum. 


Miss  Annie 
Clarke. 


winning  new  laurels,  which  she  justly  earned. 
Young  as  she  was,  there  was  a  passion  and 
a  life  and  a  fire  in  her  which  filled  the  stage. 
Her  comedy  was  pure,  frank,  rollicking  fun, 
without  an  artificial  touch  or  tone,  while 
in  the  more  serious  parts  her  magnificent 
black  eyes  glowed  with  expression  and  her 
vivid  movements  were  Rachelesque.  She 
was  of  the  stuff  from  which  true  artists  are 
made,  and  yet,  with  all  these  natural  ad- 
vantages, a  constant  student,  living  in  her 
profession  and  entirely  absorbed  by  it.  We 
stood  side  by  side  often  in  opposite  parts 
and  I  honestly  shared  the  admiration  of  the 
audience  for  her. 

If  the  actor's  labor  is  only  to  shape  the 
image  of  snow,  I  should  like  to  assure  a 
sister  that  hers  remains  crystalized  for  a  life- 
time in  my  memory ! 

My  first  Saturday  eve- 
ning in  Boston  was  spent 
at  the  Howard  Athe- 
naeum, then  under  the 
management  of  E.  L. 
Davenport.  We  did  not 
play  at  the  Museum  that 
night  of  the  week,  so  as 
Thackeray  observes  of  idle  actors,  we  were 
to  be  found  looking  on.  at  those  that  did.     A 

tall, 


Boston  Museum.  157 

tall,  elegant  girl  appeared,  dressed  in  a  frock 
of  simple  make,  soft,  clinging  and  exquisitely 
graceful,  while  every  one  else  wore  hoops  of 
enormous  amplitude,  and  ruffles  and  flounces, 
according  to  the  fashion.  I  was  as  delighted 
with  the  modest  refinement  of  the  actress, 
who  was  only  a  "  walking  lady,"  as  I  was  with 
her  dress,  and  prophesied  she  would  be  one 
of  the  best  leading  actresses  within  five 
years.  A  Boston  public  was  called  upon  to 
verify  my  prophecy,  and  I  leave  it  to  say 
if  the  full  bloom  has  not  fulfilled  the  prom- 
ise of  the  bud  in  Annie  Clarke. 

I  have  spoken  before  in  a  general  way  of  a  nameless 
those  not  in  the  front  rank  of  the  profes-  eioine- 
sion.  As  hers  was  among  the  first  faces  I 
met  on  the  Museum  stage,  let  me  now  speak 
in  particular  of  one  of  my  humbler  heroines. 
As  I  sat  ready  for  the  discovery  of  Lydia 
Languish  at  rehearsal,  I  saw  the  beautiful 
outline  of  a  female  who  was  standing  sew- 
ing where  she  could  best  catch  the  light 
upon  her  work.  She  was  a  mature  woman, 
looking  about  thirty  years  of  age,  with  a 
superb  figure,  soft  nut  brown  skin  of  the 
richest  gipsy  coloring  I  ever  beheld,  strik- 
ingly handsome  features,  gleaming  teeth, 
'lustrous,  fascinating  eyes,  with  long  fringed 
lashes,  raven  hair  that  waved   in  its  bands, 

and 


i58 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


and  cheerful 
ness. 


Four  dollars  a 
week 


and  still  left  glossy  curls  peeping  out  in 
natural  disorder  after  the  hasty  toilet  and 
Life  and  health  the  hurried  walk.  Above  all,  the  expression 
of  joyous  life  and  health  made  a  picture  of  the 
sunny  face  that,  after  twenty-five  years  I  think 
of  with  admiration.  Differently  placed,  artists 
would  have  raved  over  her.  In  society,  I 
have  never  seen  an  approach  to  her  type  of 
beauty,  and  yet  there  she  was,  unconsciously, 
modestly  plying  her  task,  respectable  and  re 
spected,  a  widow  struggling  to  keep  two  chil 
dren,  which,  with  infinite  economy  and  the 
occasional  aid  of  her  needle,  she  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  on  a  salary  of  four  dollars  a 
week  !  Honor  be  to  all  such.  In  the  Great 
Review  may  they  be  ordered  up  into  the  front 
rank. 

There  is  nothing  I  used  to  like  better  than 
to  mount  the  stairs  of  the  Museum  with  a 
party  of  children  and  to  share  the  rapture 
which  begins  with  Gulliver  on  the  first  floor 
and  reaches  its  climax  in  the  fearsome  delight 
of  the  wax  figures  on  the  last.  The  little  ones' 
pleasure  is  infectious,  and  sympathv  rolls 
away  the  burden  of  years.  In  this  way  I 
went  thither  after  a  long  absence,  and  — not 
finding  the  face  of  one  I  had  never  failed  to 
see  in  the  days  of  auld  lang  syne  ;  a  quaint 
being,  who  had  been  a  sentiment  to  me,  as  a 

passionate 


The  wax  fi 
ures. 


Their  zealous 
guardian. 


Boston  Museum.  ijg 

passionate  enthusiast,  the  lover  and  pre- 
server of  the  wax  figures  —  I  asked  for  him, 
and  was  told  he  was  dead  ! 

After  I  had  been  in  Boston  about  six  weeks, 
I  saw,  as  I  stood  in  the  dim  entrance,  a  little 
bent  old  man  watching  me.  He  came  forward 
and  asked,  did  I  not  like  wax  figures,  would 
I  not  come  and  look  at  his  ?  After  the  re- 
hearsal he  conducted  me  to  the  upper  gallery. 
There  was  a  confiding  yet  startled  air  which 
was  almost  furtive  and  suggested  fear  and 
suspicion.  I  could  not  but  believe  that,  en- 
grossed with  his  dumb  companions,  when  he 
sought  human  fellowship,  the  eyes  that 
moved,  the  lips  that  spoke,  half  terrified  him  ! 
However,  being  a  silent  person,  I  was  taken  sympathy  with 
the  rounds,  and  every  perfection  pointed  out  V°"ely  enthu' 
to  me.  Was  I  not  smitten  with  the  belief  that 
Chang  and  Eng  were  before  me?  These 
Siamese,  were  they  not  real  ?  He  spoke 
with  solemn  earnestness  of  Miss  McCreas 
need  of  a  clean  gown.  She  should  have 
it  yet.  But  the  school  —  the  school.  Look 
at  it !  Every  face,  he  told  me,  had  been 
wiped,  every  collar  washed,  every  shoe 
brushed.  The  schoolmaster,  was  I  not 
deceived  by  him  ?  The  scholar  with  the 
dunce's  cap  ?  Wax?  No!  It  was  life!  He 
spoke  with  the  most  touching  pathos  of  the 

nesrlect 


160  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Neglect  of  the  neglect  of  his  idols  now  as  compared  with 
wax %ures.  tne  times  gone  by.  He  kept  up  his  constant 
brushing  and  combing  and  dusting,  but  all  to 
no  purpose.  I  could  see  he  was  too  much 
hurt  to  speak  to  the  old  members  of  the  com- 
pany. They  who  had  known  them  in  better 
days  treated  them  with  cold  indifference.  He 
must  speak  to  somebody  —  so  he  confided 
all  to  me,  a  stranger  ? 

It  is  a  fact  I  never  even  knew  his  name, 
but  I  understood  and  pitied  him,  which 
seemed  enough.  He  had  trusted  me.  I 
never  betrayed  that  trust  by  mentioning 
his  grief.  About  twice  a  year  as  long  as 
I  was  attached  to  the  Museum,  and  always 
when  I  returned  for  starring  engagements,  we 
My  friend  and  went  on  the  little  pilgrimage  together  to  see 
ijisit  the  gai-  the  renovations  in  his  beloved  family.     He 

still  dwelt  upon  the  fact  that  they  had  once 
been  praised  so  highly,  but  now  all  was  dif- 
ferent. Even  those  that  did  come  to  look  at 
the  upper  gallery  spoke  with  discriminating 
severity,  and  the  change  was  more  than  he 
could  endure. 
An  eerie  place  The  ghastly  tragedy  of  the  drunkard's 
history,  the  verisimilitude  of  the  sealing- 
wax  blood  of  poor  Miss  McCrea,  stark  star- 
ing Santa  Anna,  were  always  things  terrible 
to  me,  but  as  I  think  now  of  the  pale  moon- 
light 


Boston  Museum.  l6l 

light  falling  on  those  awful  spectres,  I  have 
an  eerie  feeling  that  the  little  old  man  still 
creeps  about  the  gallery  fulfilling  his  faithful 
task !  The  children  would  be  bidden  to  run 
up  that  last  flight  alone.  Nothing  could  take 
me  there  again  ! 

Surely  a  memory  preserved  in  bare  fact  of  Living  memo- 
date  and  circumstance  is  like  a  waxen  effigy  nes' 
or  the  barbarous  Egyptian  mummy.  Oblivion 
were  often  better.  In  these  trifling  recollec- 
tions of  dear  friends  and  companions  I  have 
at  least  tried  to  set  down  my  remembrance  of 
the  kind  thoughts,  noble  impulses  and  good 
deeds  of  yesterday,  which  are  the  undying 
part  of  to-morrow  as  well. 


^9 


CHAPTER 


CHAPTER      IX. 


Travel  in  America. 


safety  of  a  I  have  always  felt  happily  secure  in  travel- 

woman  travel-  ]mg  alone,    especially    in  America,  where   a 

ling  in  Amer- 
ica, woman  finds  officials  generally  helpful,  re- 
spectful and  obliging.  I  scarcely  remember 
meeting  with  a  single  exception  anywhere. 
Still,  when  one  journeys  thousands  of  miles 
for  five  seasons  —  by  the  law  of  chances, 
some  unusual  experiences  must  happen  to 
the  traveller.  Having  been,  for  the  sum- 
mer of  1857,  in  Montreal  with  Mr.  Bel  ton, 
in  returning,  I  was  to  meet  my  mother  at 
Albany.  The  geography  of  the  country  had 
not  yet  been  mastered  by  me  —  the  points 
of  the  compass  never  will  be.  It  was  a 
natural  instinct  in  changing  cars  to  follow  the 
crowd,  and  not  until  the  train  had  really 
started  did  it  occur  to  me  that  it  might  be  as 

well 


Travel  in  America.  l6j 

well  to   ask  if  I  was  on  the  right  road,   so  a  stupid  mis- 
turning  to  a  person  in  the  next  seat   I  in-take\ 
quired,  "  Is  this  the  train  for  Albany  ?"     The 
man  pedantically  replied,    "  This  is  the  New 
York  train."     Of  course,  I  understood  it  was 
the  wrong  one  !     My  mother's  anxiety,  if  I 
failed    to    arrive    in    Albany,    was    my    only 
thought.      Without   an  instant's  hesitation   I 
rushed  to  the  door  and  sprang  off  the  train  ! 
When  I  came  to  my  senses  it  was  to  find  my- 
self lying  on  a  seat  in  the  waiting  room  and 
to  hear  the  words:     "She's  got  a  life  pre- Alife preserver, 
server  on  the  back  of  her  head  !"    It  appeared 
that  my  hair,  which  was  enormously  thick  and 
long,  being    coiled    at    the    back,    had  really 
been  sufficent  to  serve  as  a  sort  of  cushion, 
and  probably  did  save  my  life.     But  the  blow 
was   serious  enough    to  stun  me  for  several 
hours,  and  leave  bloodshot  eyes  and  aching 
bones  for  many  days.     Worse  than  this  was 
the  distress   of  learning   I  had  been   on  theTherighttrain 
right  train  which  passed  through  Albany  on  after  a11- 
its  way  to  New  York.     It  was  now  due  there, 
and  I  pictured  my  mother  almost  beside  her- 
self at  my  absence  —  especially  if,  as  some  one 
suggested,  she  should  be  told  by  the  officials 
that  a  girl  had  jumped  off.     They  knew  noth- 
ing of  my  condition,  and,  being  so  near  the 
station,  did  not  "back,"  knowing  I  should  be 
seen  and  attended  to.  My 


164 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


A  serious  acci 
dent. 


The  broken 
bridge. 


My  mother  had  only  arranged  to  meet  me 
in  Albany  on  our  way  to  St.  Louis.  I  had  no 
address,  and  therefore  could  only  wait  in  a 
state  of  real  fever  and  frenzy  until  the  next 
New  York  train  started.  After,  as  it  seemed, 
an  endless  journey,  I  was  literally  carried  out 
of  my  seat,  where  my  mother  found  me,  too 
ill  to  look  for  her. 

This  was  only  a  personal  injury,  however. 
I  have  been  in  several  general  disasters,  one 
in  the  West,  where  two  people  behind  me 
were  both  killed.  Our  train  was  late,  the 
express  had  made  unusual  time,  and  it  ran 
into  us,  producing  a  "telescope"  accident. 
I  escaped  with  a  dislocated  shoulder,  but 
it  was  an  awful  moment,  that  I  never  can 
forget,  when  that  deafening,  blinding,  crush- 
ing" horror  swept  me  up  and  away.  It  was 
night,  and  we  were  left  in  darkness.  The  voice 
of  the  conductor  was  heard  amid  the  groans 
and  cries  almost  instantaneously,  telling  us  to 
keep  still,  lights  were  coming  and  when 
the  lanterns  were  brought  the  wreck  pre- 
sented a  sickening  sight  too  ghastly  to 
describe. 

Another  incident  was  perfectly  harmless, 
even  ludicrous,  as  it  seems  now.  It  was  no 
laughing  matter  at  the  time.  The  train  came 
to  a  stop  about  five  o'clock  on  a  cold  January 

morning, 


Travel  in  America.  165 

morning,  and  the  kind  conductor  knocked  at 

the  door  of  my  compartment  to  say:   "Bridge 

broken — cars   waiting    for  us   on    the   other 

side."      And    so    they    were,    but    we    must  An  unpleasant 

cross    the    bridge    on    foot,    walking   on    the walkacrossthe 

0  °  river. 

sleepers :  so  with  the  good  fellow's  help  my 
wraps  were  all  bundled  on,  and  then  I  was 
taken,  as  others  were,  a  guard  on  either  side, 
across  the  icy  track,  and  told  to  look  up,  not 
down.  When  we  had  safely  accomplished 
the  tight-rope  feat  and  for  the  first  time  I 
glanced  into  the  yawning  depth,  1  felt  grate- 
ful for  the  inherited  military  obedience  which 
enabled  me  to  do  promptly  what  I  was 
bidden. 

One  night  I  left  Buffalo  at  twelve  o'clock,  sleeping  car 
after  a  performance.     The  getting  off  with  arobbed- 
great  deal  of  baggage  made  me  rather  a  con- 
spicuous figure,  and  I  chanced  to  have  con. 
siderable  money    about    me.     There  was  no 
compartment  with  a  door,  to  be  had  ;  there. 
fore  I  took  one  with  curtains,  and,  being  very 
tired,  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  from  which  I 
aroused  to    a  consciousness   that   some    one  Attempt  to 
was  holding  ether  to  my  mouth.     I  felt  the  etherize  me- 
burning  on  my  lips,  and  half  awoke  to  see 
the  curtain  flying  and  some  men  scuttling  to 
the  end  of  the  car,  but  I  fell  into  a  stupor  at 
once  from  the  anaesthetic.    The  next  morning 

I 


1 66  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

I  heard  the  porter,  as  he  put  up  the  berths,  tell- 
ing a  gentleman  the  train  had  been  boarded  last 
night  by  robbers.  "  Did  they  steal  any- 
thing ? "    "  No,"  said  the  porter,  " nothing  was 

My  tickets  re-  found  upon  them  but  the  tickets  from  the 
head  of  that  lady's  berth,"  "  that  lady  "  being 
myself.  I  held  my  own  counsel,  as  I  had  lost 
nothing,  and  as  this  was  before  the  days  when 
pseudo  robberies  of  artistes  were  a  recog- 
nized form   of  advertising. 

About  this  time  I  spent  a  week  in  a  place 

on  city  in  win-  called  Oil  City,  Pennsylvania.  The  snow  was 
two  feet  deep,  and  I  ordered  a  sleigh  to  take 
me  to  the  theatre.  They  placed  a  regular  Cleo- 
patra barge  at  my  service.  I  could  not  be- 
lieve it  was  all  for  me,  but  they  explained 
that  it   was    the  only    thing    on    runners  in 

i  ride  in  a         town.     Packed  tight,  as  I  saw  it  once,  with 

barge.  thirty  people  holding  on  to  one  another,  it 

was  as  much  as  they  could  do  to  keep  in,  and 
what  it  was  to  me  in  the  twenty-four  rides  I 
made  in  it,  up  hill  and  clown  dale,  in  those 
drifts  of  snow,  who  can  tell  ?  I  finally  had 
a  buffalo  robe  set  in  the  midst,  on  the  floor, 
and  I  started  on  that,  but  before  we  reached 
our  destination  the  robe  was  jolted  from 
under  me,  and  only  by  clutching  with  both 
hands  was  I  left  anywhere  at  all  inside  the 
barge.     There  was  a  funny  incident    at  the 

conclusion 


Travel  in  America.  l6y 

conclusion  of  the  play  in  Oil  City.  At  the  Preparations 
point  where  there  is  generally  an  uprising  on  f°r  leavins the 
the  part  of  the  audience  I  heard  an  unusual 
scraping,  and  for  an  instant  thought  of  fire, 
but  it  was  simply  a  preparation  for  a  long 
trudge  to  their  homes  in  the  dark.  Every 
man  provided  himself  with  a  lamp,  and  they 
went  through  a  sort  of  drill  inasmuch  as  it 
was  done  methodically  and  in  unison.  All 
stretched  under  their  seats,  each  for  his  lan- 
tern, all  struck  a  match  together,  all  illumi- 
nated at  the  same  moment,  and  from  the 
stage  this  manoeuvre  had  a  decidedly  novel 
effect. 

People    used    to    inveigh    against    Cliarlesc?*™. 
Dickens   for    the    severity    of    his    American 
Notes,  but  if  Cairo  was,  as  I  have  been  told, 
his  Eden,  he  could  not  exaggerate  its  horrors, 
as    I  remember  it.    .A  stay  there  of    seven 
hours    cost  me  nearly  four  hundred  dollars. 
The  boat  stuck  in  about  three  feet  of  water  A  disagreeable 
on  a  mud  bottom,  a  ricketty  plank  walk  tooklandin£- 
us  from  the  deck  to  the  supposed  shore,  which 
was  a  continuation  of  the  mud  bank,  and  in 
which  one  sank  as  in  a  quagmire.     I  reached 
the   hotel,   and   waited   three  hours    for  one 
trunk,  which  was  plainly  marked,   as  I  indi- 
cated, number  three.  The  next  morning  I  went 
on  my  way.     It  was  some  few  days  before  I 

opened 


l68  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

opened  the  last  of  my  baggage.  Meanwhile 
a  mysterious  a  damp,  mouldy  smell  pervaded  my  room,  and 
as  I  was  always  making  some  such  discovery, 
and  travelled  with  corks  for  the  apertures  of 
the  washing  basins,  deodorizer  to  throw  under- 
neath, camphor  to  besprinkle  the  pillows,  wax 
to  drop  around  the  pipes  —  every  remedy  was 
applied.  Still  the  odor  remained.  I  never 
suspected  my  own  trunks,  until  opening  num- 
My  wet  trunk,  ber  three  the  mystery  was  revealed.  On  my  re- 
turn to  Cairo,  the  porter  acknowledged  it  did 
fall  into  the  water,  but  the  old  colored  man 
felt  positively  indignant  at  my  ingratitude  in 
entering  a  complaint  after  he  "fished  and 
speared  and  done  gone  everything  and 
couldn't  get  that  yar  saretogy  up  out  of  de 
ribber,  no  how."  It  appeared,  after  a  dis- 
cussion among  the  gang,  as  it  was  agreed 
How  it  was  res-  "Julia  s  "  dropped  it  into  the  river,  "Julius" 
tie  must  "fotch  it  out  ;"  but,  instead  of  bringing 
up  the  trunk,  he  began  to  disappear  himself, 
which  made  him  howl  with  fright.  The 
others  threw  him  ropes,  one  of  which  he 
passed  through  the  handle  of  the  "saretogy," 
and  another  round  his  own  body,  and,  by  the 
aid  of  these,  his  comrades  succeeded  in  haul- 
ing both  on  to  the  plank.  After  all  this,  that 
I  should  come  back  to  bewail  my  loss  was 
apparently   most    unlooked   for.      "  Well,"    I 

said, 


river. 


Travel  in  America.  l6g 

said,  "  it  was  an  accident,  and  I  only  com- 
plain of  your  not  telling  me  at  the  time,  and 
why  not  as  well  then  as  now  ?  "  "  Cos,"  said  whoistociaim 
the  old  man,  "  I'se  feeling  more  better  'bout 
it  now,  but  whatever  yer  got  in  that  thar 
saretogy,  it's  not  feathers  ;  golly,  it's  heavy 
as  cannon  balls,  and  that  night,  Missy,  that 
night,  when  I  stuck  in  the  mud,  I  'spected  I 
was  a  going  right  straight  down  to  the  very 
debble,  and  I  was  that  sore  with  de  weight  of 
my  old  bones  a  hanging  on  to  that  yar  rope ; 
it  wasn't  the  saretogy  that  I  thought  of,  but 
Julius,  and  I  tell  ye  what  it  is,  Missy,  if  I'd  a 
said  a  word  it  would  ha'  been  to  ask  a  hun- 
dred dollar  for  my  damages,  and  I  ain't  got 
right  round  over  it  now." 

In  an  old  memorandum  book  I  find  one  or  ANewEng- 
two  brief  jottings  that  revive  some  wayside land  toun 
memories.     In  the  summer  of  1863  I  made  a 
tour  of  a  few  New  England  towns  with  a  very 
modest  company  as  regards  numbers,  for  the 
selection   of  pieces  was   only  intended  for  a 
midsummer  night's  amusement  and  consisted 
of  such  plays  as  Delicate  Ground,  Antony  and 
Cleopatra,  and  A  Conjugal  Lesson.     These  Three  admira- 
little  comedies  only  called  for  three  men,  butble  actors' 
they  were  of  the  best.     In  the  cold,  immov- 
able, exquisitely  mannered  Sangfroid,  I  have 
never  seen  Owen  Marlowe's  artistic   "  letting 

of 


I/O  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

of  acting  alone,"   equalled.     Those  who  re- 
member the   ring  of   Stuart  Robsoii  s   voice 
know   how  originally,  quizzically  droll  he  is. 
And  last,  not  least,  came  gentlemanly  George 
Becks,  always  perfect,  always  equipped,  fit  for 
a  drawing  room.     They  were  worthy  of  their 
E.p.Hingston.  manager  E.  P.  Hingston,  a  most  thoroughly 
educated,  large  souled  man,  and  a  most  inde- 
fatigable agent.  The  "Irrepressible"  was  the 
title  well  bestowed  upon  him.     He  took  us  to 
Portland  for  two  nights.     We  remained  two 
Mr  warren's    weeks.     The  company  was  slightly  increased 
first  appear-    for  the  last  performances,  and  William  War- 
Portiand.         rcn  made  his  first  appearance  in  Portland  — 
an  unprecedented  event  out  of  Boston  in  those 
days.    His  entrance  into  the  city  was  through 
by-ways  and  back  streets.     Coming  on  foot 
into  the  square,  Mr.   Warren  found  Hingston, 
who  was  jack-of-all-trades,  showman  as  well  as 
literateur,  mounted  upon  a  scaffold,  painting 
on  an  enormous  board,  in  letters  three  feet 
"GiTnt'of        l°nS  :   "  William   Warren,  America's  Giant  of 
Fun."  Fun  !  "     My  modest  friend,  accustomed  only 

to  the  quiet  advertising  of  his  theatrical  home, 
refused  to  pass  the  spot  where  the  painter  was 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  men  and  boys  ;  so 
turned  and  fled,  gaining  admittance  by  a  side 
door  to  the  hotel,  where  I  was  waiting  to 
receive  him. 

Southern 


Travel  in  America.  I J I 

Southern  railway  travel  after  the  war  had  southern  rail- 
always  the  excitement  of  uncertainty.  Acci-waytr  ' 
dents  were  frequent,  but  the  speed  was  so 
slow  on  the  poorly  reconstructed  roads  that 
the  mischief  was  comparatively  small.  I  re- 
member a  journey  of  fourteen  miles  that  took 
eight  hours,  in  consequence  of  the  fuel  giving 
out.  After  each  start  the  speed  gradually 
slackened,  the  train  came  to  a  standstill,  en- 
gineer, stoker  and  brakeman  fell  to  and  picked 
up  such  wood  as  was  available  by  the  roadside 
to  feed  the  feeble  engine,  and  presently  it 
slowly  puffed  forward  only  to  wheeze  and  stag- 
ger again  to  a  halt.  So  it  went  on  ;  the  men  a  slow  train, 
among  the  passengers  finally  jumping  off  to 
help  forage  for  fuel  with  the  unfailing  cheer- 
fulness and  patience  of  American  travellers. 
We  gave  out  altogether  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
from  our  destination  and  but  for  the  name 
of  the  thing,  might  as  well  have  walked  all 
the  way. 

It  is  a  contrast  to  this  snail's-paced  train  to 
think  of  a  kind  of  "  ride  for  life  "  I  once  made  a  ride  for  life, 
with  a  company  to  Canada  on  a  special  train 
running  "wild,"  and  given  to  me  only  on  a 
solemn  agreement  that  I  should  hold  the  rail- 
way free  of  any  claim  for  accident.  We  were 
to  open  in  Montreal  Easter  Monday  with  Mr. 
John  Buckland,  who,  together  with  his  lovely 

wife, 


IJ2  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

wife,  was  among  my  kindest  friends.  Be- 
cause of  a  misunderstanding  of  my  usually 
accurate  agent,  Mr.  E.  M.  Leslie,  we  found 
that,  having  neglected  to  leave  the  town  of 
Rutland  Saturday  night  after  the  perform- 
ance, we  could  get  no  farther  than  the  frontier 
on  Sunday,  and,  owing  to  the  suspension  of 
all  trains  on  that  day  in  Her  Majesty's  domin- 
ions, could  not  reach  Montreal  until  late  Mon- 
,_.  .  .       day  nis;ht.     Mr.  Leslie  got  no  comfort  from 

1  he  special  J         o  ° 

train.  the  railway  officials,  but  the  special  train  was 

finally  granted  to  my  own  intercession  with 
the  president,  after  the  most  solemn  warnings 
of  the  risk  we  were  running.  Beside  the 
danger  of  unguarded  grade  crossings,  he  said 
the  directors  had  that  morning  been  surveying 

Danger.  the  road,  and  there  were  doubtless  hand  cars, 

perhaps  an  engine,  left  obstructing  the  tracks, 
and  to  reach  Montreal  in  time  for  the  per- 
formance we  must  make  dangerous  speed. 
The  sense  of  responsibility  to  the  public 
which  an  actor  or  manager  feels  may  be  im- 
agined, when  at  a  cost  which  more  than 
swallowed  up  the  profits  of  the  night's  per- 
formance, and  without  warning  my  troupe,  in 
which  there  might  have  been  nervous  mem- 
bers, I  gathered  up,  as  it  were,  these  lives  into 

a  breathless     mY  nanc^  anc^  we  started.     Such  a  breathless 

joumey.  journey,  a  reeling  train  of  one  car  and  the 

engine. 


Travel  in  America.  iyj 

engine,  strange  shrieks  and  unusual  signals, 
abrupt  stops,  surprised  people  waving  at  us 
as  we  passed,  a  growing  sense  of  the  risk  for 
others ;  at  last  a  rush  through  the  long  bridge 
and  into  the  station,  a  gallop  to  the  theatre, 
trunks  torn  open,  and  on  the  stage  only  five 
minutes  late !  Of  course,  Mr.  Buckland  had 
been  telegraphed  by  the  way,  and  our  greet-  a  warm 
ing  in  that  little  theatre,  where  the  gener-  recePtIon- 
ous  audience  sat  awaiting  us,  was  a  welcome 
I  need  nothing  to  remind  me  of.  Montreal 
people  were  among  my  first  friends,  and 
helped  to  encourage  my  very  early  efforts. 

Two  nights  I  have  had  of  terror,  one  cer-  Two  bad 
tainly  just,  while  that  of  the  other,  a  friend,  mshts- 
looking  over  my  diary  of  those  days,  calls 
somewhat  imaginary.  It  may  seem  so  to 
the  reader,  but  the  impressions  of  both  were 
equally  real  to  me,  and  their  memories  as 
vividly  painful.     This  is  one. 

I  was  on  my  way  to  Mobile  (a  dear  old 
place  I  wish  I  might  see  again)  and  had  to 
spend  a  night  at  Meridian.  It  was  just  after  Meridian, 
the  war,  when  that  part  of  the  country  was 
absolutely  desolate,  only  a  house  left  stand- 
ing here  and  there.  We  arrived  late  on  a 
dreary  winter  evening,  got  into  a  vehicle 
resembling  a  "Black  Maria"  and  bumped 
along  a  rough  corduroy  road  which  led  to  a 

so-called 


I J  4  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Ahotei  interior,  so-called  hotel.  In  the  waiting  room  were 
only  a  few  wooden  seats  and  a  table,  and  on 
the  uncovered  floor,  asleep,  an  emigrant  family 
were  huddled  together  in  a  corner.  The  air 
was  heavy  with  suggestions  of  apples,  kero- 
sene, and  a  "poor  smell  "  of  the  worst  descrip- 
tion. A  colored  woman  with  an  inch  of  dirty 
candle,  led  me  past  a  bar  to  the  chamber  as- 
signed me.  From  this  place  came  a  chorus  of 
brutal  voices  raised  in  angry  dispute,  as  if  with 
"  not  a  finger  touch  of  God  left  whole  on  them." 
I  could  not  distinctly  see  the  face  of  my  guide 
but  there  was  something  so  unpleasant  about 
it  as  to  make  me  shrink  in  taking  the  candle 

My  sleeping  from  her.  This  room  was  of  a  piece  with 
the  other,  lacking  even  a  fireplace — a  chair 
without  a  back,  a  tin  basin  set  on  it,  a  broken 
piece  of  looking-glass  held  upon  the  wall  by 
tacks,  an  unclean  tumbled  bed;  and  bitterly 
cold,  by  reason  of  the  panes  being  half  broken 
out  of  the  window,  draped  with  an  old  brown 
rag  of  a  curtain  that  waved  solemnly  to  and 
fro.  Another  moment  and  I  might  have  been 
left  in  ignorance  of  the  worst,  but  the  woman 
stopped  to  apologize  for  the  look  of  the  bed, 
which  had  been  uncared  for,  owing  to  all  hav- 

Biack small-     ing  been  down  with    "black  smallpox!"     I 

,U)X-  asked  if  there  was  no  place  where  I  could  get 

a    more    comfortable    lodging,    and    as    she 

pointed 


Travel  in  America.  1 75 

pointed  to  some  lights  up  the  hill  I  seized 
my  satchel  and  ran  to  find  I  had  only  escaped 
the  frying  pan  to  get  into  the  fire;  for, 
whereas,  by  the  woman's  account  in  the  first 
house  the  inmates  had  recovered,  in  the 
second  they  were  at  the  worst  of  the  loath- Another  family 
some  disease.  So  back  I  turned  my  steps, slc 
for  in  a  drizzling  sleet  I  could  not  spend  the 
night  out  of  doors,  through  the  fetid  atmos- 
phere of  the  emigrants'  apartment,  now  more 
dense  than  ever,  up  to  the  windowless 
chamber  where,  at  least,  I  had  the  advantage 
of  fresh  air.  Spreading  a  large  blanket  shawl  preparations 
over  the  bed,  with  the  resolve  to  leave  it for  the  night- 
behind  me  on  my  departure,  so  shocking 
was  the  unwashed  linen,  —  enveloped  in  a 
waterproof,  I  sat  myself  up  against  the  head- 
board for  the  night.  When  the  disorderly 
sounds  from  the  bar  at  last  subsided,  I  began 
to  find  some  comfort  in  the  anticipation  of 
having  "black  smallpox"  in  the  hospital  all 
by  myself  at  least,  without  risk  to  those  at 
home,  and,  as  I  watched  the  funereal  old  rag 
curtain  in  its  solemn  undulations,  I  even 
dozed ! 

This    was    one   experience ;    now   for   the 
other.     In  a  remote    part    of   the    West,  my 
baggage    having   gone    forward,  I    missed    aAmissed 
connection  one  Saturday  afternoon.     I    felt  connection. 

vastly 


Ij6  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

vastly  relieved,  however,  upon  learning  from 
the  landlord  of  the  hotel  that  a  "mixed"  train 
passed  through  the  town  at  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  upon  which  I  could  go  twenty  miles  on 
a  branch  line.  So,  never  heeding  the  black 
out  into  the  sky>  witn  its  lurid  flashes  and  distant  roll- 
storm.  jng  thunder,  the  station  was  reached.  The 
whistle  of  the  engine  gave  warning  of  its 
approach ;  in  an  instant  it  was  steaming 
before  me,  I  was  hurried  into  the  train  and 
in  as  brief  a  time  as  I  am  telling  it,  we 
moved  off,  out  of  the  station  into  the  awful 
storm — one  other  passenger  and  myself. 
An  unpleasant  There  are  times  when  exclusiveness  is  a 
luxury,  but  we  always  experience  a  certain 
security  in  numbers  and  under  the  present 
circumstances  I  felt  I  would  have  infinitely 
preferred  them  to  having  this  rough,  desperate 
looking  man  my  only  companion.  It  was  a 
relief  when  the  conductor  came  in  and  talked 
to  him,  but  a  relief  of  short  duration,  for  in 
a  few  moments  the  conductor  came  to  me,  and 
after  some  commonplace  remarks  about  the 
storm,  asked  me  where  I  should  go  when  the 
cars  reached  their  destination.  To  this  I  re- 
sponded quietly  enough,  "  Oh  !  I  shall  go  to  a 
hotel  and  wait  for  the  train."  He  laughingly 
replied  :  "That  will  give  you  some  trouble, 
since  the  hotel  is  two  miles  off."     "Then,"  I 

said, 


companion. 


Travel  in  America.  Iff 

said,  "  I  will  sit  in  the  waiting  room."    But  in  The  hotel  two 
this  instance  it  appeared  there  was  none.     It miles  off' 
was  only  the  smallest  of  way  stations  ;  the  vil- 
lage was  two  miles  off  and  the  old  shelter  for 
passengers  and  trains  had  been  pulled  down  No  waiting 
within    the    last    few  days  to  put  up  a  newroom- 
building.     "  But  cannot  I  take  a  carriage  and 
drive  somewhere  ?  "     I  inquired.     In  a  very 
brusque  manner   I  was  told  "no  such  thing 
as  a  passenger  wanting  a  carriage   stopped  No  carriage.  . 
over   there — in  fact,  being  Saturday  night, 
no    one   except    that    gentleman    is   on    the 
cars,"  and,  picking  up  his  lantern,  he  left  me 
to  my  own  frightened  thoughts. 

The  feelings  of  a  young  woman  in  this  An  unpleasant 
situation  may  be  better  imagined  than  ex-p0s 
pressed.  Just  as  a  few  tears  were  silently 
blinding  me  —  for  it  did  seem  as  if  my  heart 
were  too  full  for  anything  but  a  good  cry  — 
my  fellow-passenger  came  from  his  seat  and 
sat  down  by  me.  The  tears  froze  to  my 
cheeks  and  my  heart  beat  until  it  seemed  to 
me  the  man  must  hear  it,  see  it ;  my  hands 
were  rendered  powerless,  except  to  rise  and 
fall  with  the  strengthened  palpitation,  which 
was  not  lessened  by  the  bad  eyes  looking 
into  mine  and  the  coarse  voice  saying:  "I'll 
take  care  of  you,  so  cheer  up.  There  is  one 
house  near  by  and  that's  mine." 

This 


1/8  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

This  was  worse  than  the  increasing  storm, 
which,  under  any  circumstances,  would 
have  sent  the  pale  flag  into  my  frightened 
face.  However,  I  summoned  courage  to  re- 
fuse his  hospitality  and,  after  making  one  or 
two  endeavors  to  overcome,  as  he  said,  my 
"crazy  scruples,"  he  returned  to  his  seat  and 
Five  dreary  once  agam  I  began  to  think  what  would  be- 
hours.  come  of  me.  The  hours  from  twelve   to   five 

must  be  bridged  over  and  I  doubt  if  many 
an  older  and  stouter  heart  would  not  have 
quailed,  as  mine  did,  at  the  black  prospect. 
My  odious  companion,  however,  seemed 
silenced  for  a  time.  When  the  official  came 
again  into  the  car  and  after  a  short  conver- 
sation  announced  that  we  were  just  there, 
I  made  one  final  appeal,  Was  there  nothing 
he  could  do  to  help  me?  But,  no; — The 
storm  was  awful  and  he  and  the  one  man  on 
i  must  be  left  the  engine  had  a  long  tramp  to  their  homes  ; 
there  was  nothing  for  me,  but  to  sit  in  the 
car  until  morning.  I  caught  at  this  and  at 
the  time  I  felt  as  if  that  were  shelter  and 
safety;  consequently,  when  the  moment  came 
for  them  to  leave  the  train  it  was  with  a  won- 
derful sensation  of  relief  I  began  to  make  my 
plans  for  the  night.  The  conductor  asked 
me  if  there  was  anything  he  could  do  for  me. 
I  answered  him  "  Nothing,  only  please  leave 

me 


Travel  in  America.  iyg 

me  another  light,  as  I  want  to  read."     He 

objected  to  this,  saying  "It  is  safest  to  put  Light  would  be 

the  light  out  altogether."  The  question  arose,  dangcrous' 

"  Why  safest  ?     I  could  not  sit  in  the  dark  — 

what  danger  ?  "     After  some  hesitation,  the 

man  replied :     "  It   is    a    risky   thing  to    sit 

here  all  night.      There  is  no   knowing  who 

might  be  wandering  around  and  seeing  a  girl 

alone  —  well,   it   isn't   what   I'd   like  for  my 

women  folk."     His  advice  was,  however,  that 

I  should  put   out  the   light  and  go  to  sleep 

quietly.     But  no  ;  his  words  had  terrified  me 

and,  bring  what  it  might,  I  would  not  be  left 

in  darkness.      He  pointed  to  a  man  with  a 

lantern  outside:     "He's  watchman  here  and 

if  the  storm  holds  up  any  way,  he'll  be  round 

once  an  hour.     I'll  see  if  he  can  get  the  keys  Locked  in. 

and    lock    you    in."      After  putting  out   the 

lamp  and  leaving  his  own  lantern  by  my  side, 

he  murmured  a  good  night,  left  me  abruptly 

and,  as  he  stepped  off   the  platform,  I  heard 

him  say  :     "  It  wouldn't  surprise  me  to  find 

that  girl  murdered  before  morning." 

As  their  steps  died  away,  for  the  first  time 
I  realized  the  situation  and  that  there  was 
now  no  help  for  it  —  nothing  to  do  but  brave 
the  danger  and  pray  for  Heaven's  protection. 
Why  had  I  not  gone  with  them  in  spite  of 
storm  and  distance  ?     I    looked  at  my  watch. 

Over 


180  Yesterdays  zvitJi  Actors. 

Four  hours  to    Over   four   hours  —  four    hours    of    solitude, 
endure.  fQm    jlours    before    the    train    arrives  —  four 

hours;  did  ever  prospect  appear  so  long?  *  *  * 
The  storm  was  over  and  the  silence  that 
Nervous  followed    was  even    worse,  for  the  slightest 

apprehensions.  movement  of  the  car  produced  by  the  night 

wind,  the  rushing  of  the  wind  itself,  neither 
of  which  would  have  been  perceptible  in 
broad  day  but  at  night,  with  this  maddening 
sense  of  fear  straining  every  nerve,  the  dull 
thumping  of  the  heart,  that  like  an  unwound 
clock  seemed  to  get  slower  and  fainter  until 
it  must  stop  altogether;  in  this  highly 
wrought  fame  of  mind,  these  trifles  were 
earthquakes  and  thunderbolts,  and  to  faint  or 
to  die  seemed  all  that  was  left.  The  power  of 
speech  had  completely  deserted  me  when  the 
conductor's  good  night  was  spoken  ;  I  only 
knew  he  had  secured  the  doors.  He  and  the 
engineer  were  gone  and  I  was  alone.  *  *  * 
Surely  I  had  sat  an  hour  since.  *  *  *  I 
was  trying  to  be  patient  and  would  prove  my 
courage  to  myself,  by  not  watching  the  time 
more  than  upon  any  other  occasion  and  so  I 
remained,  not  daring  to  peer  into  the  dark- 
ness outside,  fearful  of  turning  to  right  or 
left  and  at  last,  having  as  I  supposed 
proved  my  bravery  as  my  watch  should  tes- 
tify, 


Travel  in  America.  iSr 

tify, —  I  cautiously  raised  the  face  to  the  light.  A  lons  five 
Was  it  a  dream  ?     It  had  not  stopped,  for  the 
ticking  seemed  as  loud  as  a  mill  in  full  oper- 
ation ;    no,    no,    it  had  not  stopped,   but  the 
hands  had  only  moved  five  minutes  ! 

I  made  a  vain  effort  to  read.  But  as  I 
opened  the  book,  the  rustling  of  the  leaves 
made  my  heart  flutter  in  my  throat.  The  Terror, 
word  "Murdered"  was  written  all  over  the 
page.  With  a  convulsive  cry,  I  dropped  the 
volume  and  seized  a  little  manual  that  I  had 
put  into  my  bag.  I  tried  to  kneel,  but  my 
limbs  were  cold  and  stiff ;  I  tried  to  pray,  but 
my  tongue  seemed  paralyzed  and  my  eyes 
saw  only  blood  in  the  drops  of  speechless 
agony  that  fell  from  my  face  upon  the  psalm. 
A  feeling  of  faintness  was  creeping  through  sounds  in  the 
my  veins,  when  I  heard  the  yelp  of  a  dog  in  distance- 
the  distance  and,  as  I  listened,  it  seemed, 
too,  the  sound  of  a  human  voice.  Who 
should  it  be  but  the  watchman  ?  Perhaps 
some  thief  or  tramp  that  the  conductor  had 
in  mind  who  was  to  be  found  with  a  poor 
girl's  murder  on  his  soul  before  morning! 
With  one  last  effort  I  extinguished  the  lamp. 
The  storm  was  drifting  away  and  I  had  just 
time  to  crouch  clown  upon  the  floor,  when  a 
dog   bounded    over   the    platform.     The  car 

rocked 


1 82  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

My  alarming     rocked  upon  its  springs  like  a  cradle.     A  face 

aTin^10"  stopped  at  the  window  over  my  head  and  at 
that  instant  the  moon  sent  one  bright  gleam 
through  the  quickly  chasing  clouds  that 
enabled  me  to  recognize  my  fellow-passenger! 
My  torture  was  at  its  worst.  I  tried  to  hold  back 
my  breath  and  still  the  beating  of  my  heart, 
as  I  watched  the  wicked  face  move  from  the 
window  to  the  door,  where  I  suppose  the 
watchman's  lantern  was  visible  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  which,  together  with  the  doubt  as  to 

Relief.  my  whereabouts,  probably  decided  him,  for, 

with  a  whistle  to  his  dog,  he  passed  from  my 

sight  and  unconsciousness  came  to  my  relief. 

I  awoke  as  from  some  frightful  nightmare, 

After  suffering,  to  find  myself  in  cold,  pain  and  darkness.  I 
have  heard  that  under  severe  pressure  the 
blessing  of  sleep  will  come  whether  we  would 
or  no  ;  but  never  was  rest  so  completely  ban- 
ished from  my  eyes,  which  remained  per- 
sistently open,  not  only  that  night,  but  for 
twenty-four  hours  after.  Nevertheless,  time 
passed  at  last.  Morning  dawned,  and  with 
it  fresh  life  and  courage.  For  as  soon  as  one 
streak  appeared  in  the  darkness,  I  shook  off 
my  terror  and  succeeded  eventually  in  getting 
into  the  connecting  train. 

In  these  few  hours  I  had  grown  gray  with 

fright. 


Travel  in  America.  i8j 

fright.  They  are  coming  thick  and  fast  now, 
I  do  not  care  to  talk  about  them,  but  my 
first  white  hairs  were  laughingly  plucked 
from  their  darker  associates  after  my  mem- 
orable journey  of  only  a  night. 


CHAPTER 


CHAPTER    X. 

Canada   and  England. 


Canada, 
a  foreign 
country. 


Some  few  words  in  conclusion  of  these 
reminiscences — about  actors  and  acting,  in 
England  and  Canada,  may  be  worth  setting 
down. 

While  nothing  is  so  dreary  as  journeying 
alone,  I  know  of  nothing  more  delightful 
than  the  results  of  travel,  the  re-creation  of 
new  scenes,  fresh  faces  and  strange  tongues. 
Canada  was  always  a  delightful  place  to  visit. 
No  sea  change  could  give  one  a  more  ab- 
solute contrast  without  the  perils  and  dis- 
comforts of  a  voyage.  My  first  trip  thither 
was  under  the  care  of  Mrs.  John  Buckland, 
when  I  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  to 
play  in  Montreal.  My  last,  a  happy  halcyon 
month  in  fascinating  far  away  Quebec,  hospi- 
tably entertained  by  Consul  Howells  and  his 
pleasant    family.     A    wanderer   in    America 

finds 


Canada  and  England.  l8$ 

finds  many  places,  of  course,  with  certain 
characteristics.  Boston,  it  is  needless  to  say, 
is  very  British  and  many  of  her  men  might 
walk  clown  Regent  street  and  pass  for  natives 
any  day,  while  the  infusion  grows  weaker  as 
we  go  South  and  West  and  gradually  fades 
into  different  types.  But  Canada  is  sur- 
prising for  its  abrupt  variety  and  originality. 
Halifax  is  English,  Toronto  Scotch,  Montreal 
polyglot  and  Quebec  French  of  the  sixteenth  ^  anety,of 

1        J  °  ~  national  types. 

century.  While  New  England  erects  statues 
to  those  she  burned  two  hundred  years  ago, 
while  new  theologies  have  shattered  old 
dogmas,  and  the  manners  and  morals  of  their 
descendants  have  come  to  be  much  like  those 
from  which  the  Puritans  fled  to  New  England  ; 
only  seventeen  hours'  journey  away  in  the 
fertile  valleys  of  the  St.  Lawrence  the  pea- 
sants dance  in  their  sabots  before  the  church  Unchangeable 
door  on  Sunday  after  mass,  the  faithful  make  ^"st.1  Law- 
pilgrimages  to  holy  places  and  the  shrine  of  rence. 
the  good  St.  Anne  is  hung  with  the  offerings 
of  her  grateful  worshippers  as  of  yore.  The 
religious  prejudices  of  the  people  have  their 
effect  upon  the  conduct  of  the  stage.  A 
priest  might  not  be  represented  at  one  time 
without  the  risk  of  giving  offence.  In  Mon- 
treal I  was  cautioned  not  to  wear  the  orange  Orange  symbol: 

T    ,        ,       ,  c  ,  •,    .      to  be  avoided. 

satin  gown  I  had  chosen  for  my  dress  and  in 

passing 


lS6  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

passing  from  one  city  to  another  the  temper 
of  different  nationalities  must  be  carefully 
consulted.  The  French  element,  where  it  pre- 
dominates, as  everywhere,  makes  a  delightful, 
sympathetic  and  discriminating  audience,  but 
the  English  military,  when  they  were  garri- 
soned in  Canada,  were  the  most  valuable 
The  military  patrons  of  the  theatre.  The  officers,  for  in- 
patrons  of  the  stance,  in  Montreal   had   private  theatricals 

theatre.  ' 

all  the  winter,  under  Mr.  Buckland's  manage- 
ment, which  naturally  placed  them  on  the 
most  friendly  terms  with  him,  so  that  in  his 
summer  season  they  strolled  into  his  box  or 
his  office  and  had  the  entree  behind  the 
scenes.  Mr.  E.  A.  Sothern  and  Mr.  Jacob 
Barrow  in  Halifax  had  the  same  pleasant  re- 
lations with  the  military.  At  one  time  when 
I  was  in  Montreal,  both  the  famous  Guards 
regiments  had  their  quarters  at  St.  Lawrence 
Hall,  and  half  the  mess  were  men  of  title. 
a soidiei's  It  was  always  with  rejoicing  I  went  to  Her 

chad.  Majesty's  dominions  and  with  sincere  regret 

that  I  came  away.  As  a  soldier's  daughter 
grand-daughter,  and  niece,  I  never  failed  to 
find  some  acquaintance  or  comrade  of  my  rela- 
tives who  recognized  the  uncommon  spelling 
of  my  name  and  met  me  with  outstretched 
Military  benefit hand-  A  benefit  night  under  "patronage" 
night.  was   a   pretty  sight ;  red    coats    in    the   pit, 

officers 


Canada  and  England.  18/ 

officers  in  the  boxes  ;  English  women  look- 
ing as  only  English  women  do  in  full  dress, 
and  the  band  of  the  regiment  massed  in  the 
orchestra. 

The  Canadian  theatres  were  generally  Dingy  cana- 
fusty  places,  in  out-of-the-way  streets.  The  iant  eatres- 
"pit,"  what  the  word  describes,  a  dark  hole, 
with  benches,  mere  boards  without  backs, 
and  the  cheapest  part  of  the  house.  As  air 
ascends,  the  arrangement  is  unfortunate  for 
the  rest  of  the  audience,  and  the  "gods"  are 
far  better  elevated  to  the  gallery,  but  the 
effect  certainly  heightened  the  brilliancy  of 
the  first  tier.  The  season  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bar- 
rozv  went  to  Halifax  I  went  with  them  for 
two  weeks.  In  a  note  book  of  that  summer 
I  find,  August  3,  "Repeat  Peg  Woffington for 

7  f  7->     •  Air       ,,,  P«nce  Alfred, 

Lord  and  Lady  Mulgrave  and  Prince  Alfred,    Lord  and  Lady 
the  "Sailor  Prince,"  whose  ship  was  then  in  Mmgrave- 
harbor.     The  next  entry,  under  August  8  — 
"First    played     Faint     Heart    Never    Won 
Fair    Lady  at    the  thea- 
tre, then    went    to    sing 
the  duet    of    '  Hear   me, 
Norma,'  with  Mine.  Anna 


Madame  Anna 

bishop  at  a  concert.        1  f|§p£ff!|v...  .  .^sJUg^   m-imp. 
was    paid    for  this  what 
appears    an    extravagant 
sum,  half  of   which  was 

given 


l88  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Patronage  of  given  to  Mr.  Barrow,  which  accounts  for  my 
grave  "  being  allowed  to  do  it.  Mine.  Bishop  was 
then  over  fifty,  but  her  voice,  though  worn, 
was  still  remarkable.  On  Saturday,  August 
10,  I  find  "Benefit  under  patronage  of  Coun- 
tess of  Mulgrave  —  band  of  the  Sixty-second 
Regiment  played  for  me."  I  copy  this,  since 
with  it  comes  back  the  memory  of  a  morn- 
ing visit  to  this  same  little  lady  who,  free 
from  manner,  had  the  sweetest  manners,  and 
was,  without  question,  one  of  the  most  sim- 
ple, cordial  hospitable  people  I  ever  met. 
visit  to  the  During  this  stay  in  Halifax  I  was  asked  by 

tic  Asylum.  '  a  friend  to  sing  at  the  Lunatic  Asylum.  The 
director  and  his  wife,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Wolfe, 
received  us,  and,  after  a  cordial  greeting,  I  was 
requested  to  submit  a  choice  of  music  to 
them,  and  we  repaired  to  a  long,  narrow  hall, 
where  about  two  hundred  apparently  ordinary 
people  were  seated.  As  I  passed  up  the 
room  to  the  grand  piano  at  the  farther  end, 
the  only  thing  in  the  least  unusual  was  a  line 
of  nurses  flanked  against  the  wall.  Some  of 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  brought  up 
and  introduced,  but  the  various  solicitations 
for  favorite  songs  I  evaded,  unless  indorsed 
a  concert  in  by  an  urgent  word  from  Mrs.  Wolfe.  In 
the  Asylum,  ^k  way  tke  concert  had  nearly  reached  a 
prosperous  conclusion,  when  a  lady  asked  me 

to 


Canada  and  England.  iS() 

to    sing    "Home,  Sweet    Home."     She    was  "Home, sweet 

home,"  causes 
a  disturbance. 


standing   by  the   doctor,  who  seconded    herho 


request,  and  feeling  it  was  wrong,  but  also, 
as  Mrs.  Wolfe  probably  did,  that  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  assume  forgetfulness  of  either  words 
or  music,  I  began  my  ballad,  but  before  I 
had  concluded  one  verse  it  came  to  a  woful 
end.  One  wail  from  the  back  of  the  room 
seemed  to  arouse  the  demon  of  madness  in 
the  whole  two  hundred,  and  before  my  hands 
were  off  the  keys,  the  air  was  rent  with 
shrill  cries,  and  the  scene  was  like  the  strug- 
gle of  a  battle  field  —  the  solemn  line  of  nurses, 
by  force  of  arms,  carried  the  day,  and  the 
patients  were  gradually  taken  from  our  sight. 
This  separated  us  for  a  time  from  host  and 
hostess,  and  we  were  left  to  wander  through  Wandering 
the  corridors,  where  we  met  more  than  one  corridors. 
figure  representing  a  sadder  state  of  insanity 
than  those  in  the  hall.  One  poor  soul, 
watching  from  a  door,  seized  me  by  the  shoul 
der  with  a  chilling  clutch,  and  thrust  a  large 
package  of  scrawled  newspapers  under  my 
mantle.  I  turned,  to  find  a  woman  of  perhaps 
fifty-five  years  of  age,  well  dressed,  wearing  a 
cap  of  black  lace,  who  spoke  in  an  educated 
tone,  as  she  besought  me  to  put  those  papers 
into   the   Queen's  hands.      "Don't  trust  to Pctition  tothe 

,  t  Queen. 

any  one ;  they  will  only  deceive  you  as  they 

have 


100  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

have  me.  Let  the  Queen  know  the  truth." 
"Oh,"  she  said,  "don't  fear  me;  I  am  not 
mad.  Those  papers  will  tell  you  who  I  am, 
and  all  my  history.  I  will  reward  you  if  money 
can  do  it  ;  you  and  your  brother  there  shall 
have  ^5000  apiece  —  anything,  only  get  me 
out  of  this  place."  Dr.  Wolfe  came  up,  and 
after  pressing  refreshments  upon  us,  we  left  in 
a  boat  he  had  prepared  for  our  return.  Four 
Rowed  hy  mad- men  rowed  us  across  the  bay.  On  the  way 
ien-  our  host  spoke  of  my  papers  and  told  us  it 

was  that  patient's  custom,  if  not  supplied  with 
sufficient  writing  material,  to  amuse  herself 
by  scribbling  on  the  margins  of  newspapers 
or  anything  else  she  could  find.  It  was  so 
greasy  and  disagreeable  a  bundle,  he  begged 
me  to  let  him  throw  it  overboard,  but  I  said 
no,  I  would  keep  it  as  a  souvenir.  He  laugh- 
ingly added,  under  his  breath,  "They  all  have 
hobbies  which  we  try  to  humor,  for  many  are 
as  harmless  as  these  poor  fellows."  We  were 
just  landing  when  the  discovery  was  thus 
made  that  the  boatmen  were  all  four  lunatics  ! 
Giad  toi>esafe  Under  the  circumstances  I  was  thankful  to 
home.  get  norne      j$ut  the  impression  of  my  visit  to 

the  Halifax  asylum  was  deepened  when  I  re- 
lated my  experiences  to  my  landlady,  a 
gentlewoman  well  acquainted  with  the  affairs 
of  the  town.     She  recognized  in  the  scraps  of 

writing 


Canada  and  England.  igi 

writing  I  had  brought  away  as  a  petition  to 
Queen  Victoria  the  story  of  a  lady,  doubtless 
now  insane,  but  who  had  been  unjustly  treated  a  story  of  un- 

i    t  •         i       r  i  i  •  i       kindness. 

and  deprived  of  her  property  by  grasping  rela- 
tives. Poor  soul,  perhaps  the  little  ray  of 
hope  with  which  she  confided  her  case  to  me 
was  a  comfort  in  her  dreary  imprisonment, 
worth  the  burden  it  left  on  my  heart  for  many 
clays ! 

I  never  even  saw  the  inside  of  a  London  My  appearance 
theatre  until  my   return  to   England,   when  I in  London- 
appeared  at  the  Princess's  in  1868.    This  fam- 

*  *  The  Princess's. 

ous  house  still  enjoyed  the  favor  won  for  it 
years  before  by  the  elaborate  revivals  of  Mr. 
Charles  Kean,  but  like  all  the  English  thea- 
tres, the  auditorium  seemed  dingy  and  shabby 
beside  those  of  America,  fully  compensated 
however  by  the  more  brilliant  appearance  of 
the  audience.  While  I  was  in  London,  by  the 
by,  one  of  those  checks  occurred  to  the  ex- 
treme of  ladies' evening  attire,  which  illustrates 
the  social  power  of  the  queen  in  manners  and 
morals.  A  personal  rebuke  was  conveyed  reguuuonVf 
by  Her  Majesty  to  a  lady  at  a  drawing  room  liress- 
for  her  style  of  dress.  The  very  next  night 
every  neck  was  covered  with  tulle  in  the 
boxes  of  theatre  and  opera,  and  this  continued 
the  fashion  for  the  season. 

I  had  little  leisure  to  see  my  fellow  actors 

in 


beautiful 

scenery. 


I()2  Yesterdays  ivith  Actors. 

in  London,  for  my  engagement  there  was  im- 
mediately followed  by  a  tour  in  the  provinces, 
Fechter.  but  I  saw  Fechter  at  the  Adelphi,   then  in  his 

prime,  the  special  protege  of  Charles  Dickens 
and  the  favorite  of  the  town.     The  scenery, 
Mr.  brieve's     by  Mr.  Grieve,  was  most  beautiful.   Certainly 
in  those  days  nothing  in  America  equalled  the 
perfection  of  the  London   stage.      Applause 
is  as  freely   given   to    the    successes    of   the 
painter  as   the   actor,    and    I   was  very  much 
surprised  to  see  a  gentleman  appear  in  full 
evening  dress,  after  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  and 
bow  recognition.     He    was  the  scenic  artist 
and  was  duly  on  hand  for  the  first  nights  of 
the  pieces. 
Madge  Robert-      Madge  Robertson,  now  Mrs.  Kendal,  whose 
son-  recent    defence    of   the  stage  could  have  no 

more  worthy  author,  was  playing  with  Mi. 
SotJicm  at  the  Haymarket.  It  was  only  in  a 
little  part,  but  I  recall  the  fresh,  natural  earn- 
estness of  her  style,  which  indicated  those 
qualities  which  have  made  her  the  most 
popular  actress  on  the  London  boards. 
The  shoreditch  The  handsomest  theatre  I  saw  was  an  East 
Theatre.  End  house  called  the  New  National  Standard, 

Shoreditch,  built  after  the  model  of  La  Scala, 
elegantly  fitted  up,  brilliantly  lighted,  and  the 
best  for  sight  and  sound  in  the  city.  It  was 
essentially  a  Bowery  theatre  as  regards  its  lo- 
cation, 


Canada  and  England.  jgj 

cation,  but  with  the  location  all  resemblance 
to  a  second-class  theatre  ended.  Of  course, 
the  patrons  were  neither  elegant  nor  distin- 
guished, but  a  more  appreciative,  critical, 
generous  audience  was  never  assembled  within 
the  walls  of  Drury  Lane.  The  performance  Excellent  play 
was  deserving  of  all  the  attention  and  applause  irs  ,at  the  East 

&  l  l  _       End. 

bestowed  upon  it.  Mr.  Crcszvick  appeared  in 
the  first  piece,  supported  by  an  excellent  com- 
pany. Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henri  Drayton  wound 
up  the  performance.  The  lady,  though  a  true 
artist,  had  only  a  small  flute-like  voice,  and  it 
was  certainly  most  astonishing  to  hear  an 
East  End  gallery  listening  breathlessly  to  a 
little  operetta  sung  in  true  drawing  room 
style.  The  prices  of  the  West  End  were  too 
high  for  the  people  to  patronize,  therefore 
Webster  and  his  company,  Bnckstonc  and  his 
company,  Sims  Reeves  —  in  fact  all  the  great 
artists  in  London  —  visited  the  Standard  and 
gave  by  turns  the  best  performances  at  East 
End  prices,  with  mutual  profit  to  audience 
and  actor. 

Engagements  to  play  in  Manchester,  Liver- provincial  en- 
pool,   Glasgow,    Weymouth    and    Exeter    fol- &a&ements- 
lowed  my  London  appearance,  and,  of  course, 
involved    considerable  experience  of    British 
railways.     What  a  contrast  in  their  methods 

.  .  Railway  travel 

to  those  of  America!    To  get  into  a  carriage i„ England. 

at 


igj.  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

at  all,  is  often  for  men  a  matter  of  blows  an.l 
elbows,  and  women  are  not  unfrequently  left 
standing  on  the  platform  for  the  next  train. 
When  yon  do  get  in,  as  a  stranger  to  the 
stations,  where  are  you  to  get  out  ?  No 
tickets  are  collected  until  you  are  off  the 
train,  and  your  neighbors  either  do  not  know 
themselves  or,  more  likely,  are  too  gruff  to 
answer.  Only  at  each  stopping  place  the 
guard  rushes  to  and  fro  in  the  noise  and 
bustle,  crying  something  in  the  unrecogniza- 
ble manner  of  his  class  in  all  countries. 
Even  a  glass  of  water  is  only  to  be  obtained 
leaving  the  by  leaving  the  train,  which  includes  the  risk 
train-  of    not  getting  on  again.     Having   occasion 

to  do  this  once,  I  took  the  precaution  of 
looking  at  the  number  of  my  carriage,  —  fifty- 
seven.  As  I  was  pitying  a  poor  hatless  fellow, 
who  had  seized  a  guard  by  the  shoulder  with  a 
"Where's  my  wife?"  I  heard  a  plaintive 
voice  in  my  ear  saying:  "Please  will  you 
show  me  fifty-seven  ? "  On  looking  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  voice,  I  found  one  of  a  pair  of 
interesting  girls  who  had  shared  this  mys- 
terious number  with  me,  standing  with  a  glass 
of  water  in  her  hand.  The  train  at  this  mo- 
ment seemed  about  to  start.  No  guard  in 
sight  to  question  ;  the  little  maid  herself  look- 
ed faint.     I  seized  her  with  one  hand,  the  glass 

of 


Canada  and  England.  ig$ 

of  water  with  the  dfher,  spied  fifty-six,  and  theThewrongcar. 
door  of  the  next  carriage  standing  open,  in  I  riase- 
jumped,  to  find  it  was  number  eleven,  occu- 
pied by  two  severely  prim  and  astonished- 
looking  old  ladies,  who  immediately  began 
calling,  "  Guard!"  I  too  was  in  despair,  having 
left  my  satchel  in  the  other  carriage.  The  girl 
began  to  cry  for  her  sister,  saying:  "Oh! 
she  will  think  I  am  left  behind."  So  out 
once  more  on  to  the  platform,  spilling  the 
water  over  one  of  the  old  ladies,  who,  in 
louder  and  more  indignant  tones,  again  called 
"Guard."  I  seconded  her  appeal,  for  it  was  Guard  missing, 
evident  that  the  numbers  of  the  carriages, 
like  the  people,  ran  in  every  direction  but 
the  right.  The  by-standers  joined  in  the  hue 
and  cry,  and  the  guard  finally  arrived,  found 
the  carriage,  which  had  been  switched  to 
another  part  of  the  train  in  our  absence, 
pushed  us  in,  united  us  respectively  to  lost 
bag  and  anxious  sister,  and  banged  the  doors 
with  an  "all  right,"as  the  train  moved  off .  Not  :lU  •  ht at 
But  it  was  not  all  right,  for  a  poor  woman, last- 
who  brought  to  my  mind  the  typical  Mrs. 
Brown,  rushed  to  the  guard  as  we  left  the 
station,  screaming  at  the  top  of  her  voice : 
"Stop  it — where's  twenty-two — I  can't  find 
it ;  and  there's  my  bird  cage  and  my  band- 
box inside!" 

The 


ig6  Yesterdays  with  Actors 

Provincial thea-      The  provincial  theatres  *of    Great    Britain 

tres.  furnish  no  interesting  points  of  description. 

They  are  mirrors  and  reproductions,  as  far 

as  their  conditions  will  allow,  of   the  great 

metropolis,    and    of   the  actors   who    played 

with  me  I  had  only  the  ordinary  professional 

experience,  but   of   the  two  or  three  actors 

upon  the  larger  stage  of  life  that  I   met  in 

England,  a  word  or  two. 

Mr.  Edward  h.      Mr.  Edxvard  H.  House,  my  kind  friend,  the 

House.  gentle  critic,  brilliant  author,  courteous  man 

of  the  world,  was  at  home  in  London  as  he 

was    in  New  York  when  I  first   knew  him, 

and  has  since  been  in  Yokohama.     He  pre- 

Mr.  Charles      sented    me    to    Mr.     Charles   Reade,    whose 

Reade.  story  of    Griffith    Gaunt    I    had    dramatized, 

and    to    whose    advice    and    suggestions    I 

became    deeply^   indebted.       I    have    spoken 

elsewhere,  and    shall    never  cease  to  speak, 

of   the  great    heart  and   loyal   nature  which 

were  associated  in  this  remarkable  man  with 

many  weaknesses,  crudities  and  faults  of  tem- 

His simplicity,  per,  for  I  believe  no  man  ever  united    large 

gifts  of  genius  with  such  childish  purity  and 

lofty  purpose.     Somehow    he  read    in  me  a 

frankness  which  he  courted.     While  he  had 

an  almost  morbid  distrust  of  contemporaneous 

criticism,  the  very  inability  to  judge  by  the 

ordinary 


Canada  and  England.  IC}? 

ordinary  canons  of   taste  seemed    to  inspire 

him  with  confidence  in  what  he  was  pleased 

to  call  my  intuitive  judgment  —  the  wisdom  Mr.  Reade 

as  it  were  of  babes  and  sucklings.      He  was seeks frank 

criticism. 

never  tired  of  asking  me,  "How  does  this 
strike  you  ?  Is  there  not  something  the  mat- 
ter with  that  ?  "  Never  waiting  to  ask  why  or 
wherefore,  but  apparently  delighted,  however 
severe  the  stricture  might  be,  to  overcome 
my  reluctance  and  get  a  simple  instinctive 
opinion.  Mr.  Reade  did  me  the  great  honor 
to  suggest,  what  I  was  most  absolutely 
obliged  to  decline,  that  I  should  prepare  a 
sketch  of  his  life  from  notes  which  he  pro- 
posed to  furnish  me.  It  was  a  life  illuminated  a  beautiful  life. 
by  filial  affection,  deepened  by  warm,  faithful 
friendship  and  enlarged  by  the  most  generous 
enthusiasm  for  humanity.  Better  than  other 
English  writers  of  greater  gifts,  he  has 
grasped  the  delicate  and  shifting  shades  of 
the  female  character,  and  while  it  exhausts 
the  ingenuity  even  of  Mrs.  Jameson,  to  give 
shape  and  reality  to  Shakespeare's  women,  I 
have  always  felt  in  reading  or  acting  from  CharIes 
Charles  Reade 's  creations,  that  my  humble  Reade's 
efforts  were  inspired  by  the  only  modern 
author  who  has  guaged  the  strength  and 
weakness  of  our  sex. 

I 


ig8 


Yesterdays  with  Actors. 


Gustave  Dore. 


George  Pea- 
body. 


General  recog 
rmion  of  the 
philanthopist 


I  met  Gustave  Dore,  who  was  one  of  the 
season's  lions.  A  handsome,  dreamy,  Ger- 
man face,  like  Mr.  Julius  Eic/iberg's,  but  with 
a  figure  so  grotesque  and  suggestive  of  one  of 
the  personages  in  his  own  Juif  Errant  that  I 
spontaneously  interposed  myself  between  him 
and  the  mirror,  in  which  his  image  was  re- 
flected, with  a  fantastic  notion  that  its  oddity 
might  offend  his  own  eye. 

Another  illustrious  name  on  every  lip  was 
that  of  George  Peabody,  whose  great  gift  had 
just  been  made  to  the  poorer  classes  of  London. 
I  recall  the  puzzled  air  with  which  he  told  me 
he  could  not  understand  why  people  were  so 
good  to  him.  I  saw  afterward  in  a  railway 
journey  which  I  made  in  his  company  some- 
thing of  the  tribute  which  all  England  was 
paying  to  the  generosity  of  the  great  Ameri- 
can. Every  official  touched  his  cap.  British 
reserve  gave  way  to  cordial  enthusiasm,  the 
most  comfortable  seat  was  yielded  to  him.  A 
white-headed  old  fellow  asked  for  the  honor 
of  his  hand,  and  the  interest  with  which  our 
companions  listened  to  the  simple  story  of  his 
boyhood  in  his  native  Salem,  and  the  hard- 
ships of  his  early  days,  dwelt  on  in  contrast 
with  the  distinguished    reception    which    the 

"good 


Canada  and  England.  igg 

"good  Queen"  had  just  given  him,  was  akin 
to  reverence. 

My  tour  in  England  was  abruptly  ended  by  \iy  accident  in 
an  accident  at  Exeter.     Mr.  Belton,  known  in  Exeter- 
this    country   during  the   first  seasons  of  the 
Boston  Theatre,  was  the  manager  there,  when  I 
met  with  a  severe  fall.    This  fall  was  the  cause 
of  my  return  home,  for,  although  my  injuries 
were  not  so  alarming  as  at  first  feared,  the  spine 
was  struck  and  left  me  with  a  nervous  affec- 
tion that  will  never  be  forgotten.    I  was  play- 
ing Nobody's  Daughter,  a  piece  dramatized 
from  Miss  Braddons  novel  by  Chandos  Ful- 
ton and  Frederic  Maeder,  that  I  had  played 
in  New  York  and  elsewhere.     The  staging  of 
a  bridge  which  I  crossed  was  insecurely  built, 
and  in  rushing  hastily  upon  it  the  whole  struc-  An  insecure 
ture  fell.     I  remember  the  sensation  perfectly  bndge" 
to-day.     The    curtain    dropped    at    once.      I 
was,    after    a    brief     examination,    swathed 
tightly    up   and  taken  to  my  lodgings  by  the 
doctors,    for  although    no  broken   bones  had 
been  discovered,   they  made  sure  there  must 
be    some    internal  injury.      The  first    report  a  narrow  es- 
killed  me  outright,  the  second  sent  me  dying cape" 
to  a  hospital   but  the  truth  was,  I  only  kept 
my  bed  a  few  days. 

While 


200  Yesterdays  with  Actors. 

Mistaken  While  I  was  gathering  strength  for  the  sea 

friends.  voyage    in    the   care  of   my  relations    I  was 

beset  with  letters  from  a  class  of  persons  to 
whom  these  random  memories  might  be 
a  revelation ;  for  their  only  value  is  the 
testimony  they  bear  to  the  purity,  charity 
and  honor  of  my  profession,  while  these 
worthy  people  seemed  to  think  the  accident 
was  a  judgment  upon  my  mode  of  life  which 
should  not  fail  to  be  improved  !  Ladies 
called  with  tracts,  and  "  Warnings  to  the 
Wicked "  were  mailed  to  me.  One  of  the 
epistles  I  received  ended  :  "  Poor  sinner, 
you  have  never  thought  before,  take  this  time 
to  repent  !"  I  trust  that  this  and  all  other 
lessons  of  pain  and  sorrow  may  not  have  been 
wasted,  but  I  fear  that  no  such  chastisement 
will  make  me  as  patient  and  strong  in  faith, 
as  many  I  have  known,  loved  and  respected 
tre.  behind  the  scenes  of  the  theatre. 

In  reading  the  recent  memoirs  of  an  actress, 
for  whose  distinguished  talents  I  have  a  pro- 
found respect,  I  take  a  decided  issue  with 
the  author,  and  feel  a  conspicuous  defect,  be- 
cause of  the  contemptuous  tone  to  her  fellow- 
actors  and  the  failure  to  recognize  their  char- 
acteristic virtues.  Saints  and  sinners  there 
are  behind,  as    before,   the  curtain,    but  the 

stas:e 


Noble  charac- 
ters in  the  thea 


Canada  and  England.  201 

stage    in    my    day    needed    not    to    fear   the 
truth. 

Venturing  to  paraphrase,  as  I  have  done  The Truth, 
for  my  own,  the  happy  title  of  Fields's  charm- 
ing recollections  of  authors,  I  borrow  another 
word  of  the  large-hearted  poet :  — 

"  '  Paint  me  as  I  am,'  said  Cromwell, 
'  Rough  with  age  and  gashed  with  wars, 

Show  my  visage  as  you  find  it ; 
Less  than  truth  my  soul  abhors.'  " 


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BELLES-LETTRES. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  PAIN.     By  James  Hinton,  M.D. 
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